


It's a Wonderful Christmas, Carole

by quietanalyst



Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, The Brittas Empire
Genre: I apologise wholeheartedly for the title, Multi, Post Series 7, some mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietanalyst/pseuds/quietanalyst
Summary: The ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future visit Mr Brittas.
Relationships: Assorted Relationships throughout - but typically in keeping with canon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. An Inspector Calls Again

**Author's Note:**

> Set a year or two after series 7, but resolutely ignores the existence of the final episode, so it wasn't all a dream, and Mr Brittas doesn't know the true parentage of Carole's twins.

Southern Area Leisure Centre Regional Director, formerly Regional Inspector, Brian Kitson was dead: to begin with. There was no doubt whatsoever about that. This must be distinctly understood or nothing of the story we are about to relate will seem as wondrous as it should.

Whitbury Newtown Leisure Centre Manager Gordon Brittas, on the other hand, was not dead. There was no doubt whatsoever about this either. Despite many attempts to rectify the situation by amateur assassins, Bulgarian hitmen, water tanks and the Whitbury Newtown W.I., Mr Brittas lived on, much to the consternation of those around him. And so it was that at 1pm on a cold and snowy Christmas Eve, he was sitting in his nice warm office, perfectly alive and happily writing Christmas cards to each member of his staff. As his personal present to them, he was going out of his way to make sure that each one had a lovely suggestion for a New Year’s resolution to encourage them make a positive and productive start to the coming year. Just as he was just stapling his sheets into Carole’s card, there was a knock on the door. 

Gavin entered, wearing the hesitant expression he always unconsciously adopted when about to ask something knowing full well the answer was going to be “no”. He got as far “Mr Brittas, I -“ before his boss interrupted him.

“Ah, Gavin, just the man! Can you ask the staff to gather in the restroom at four thirty this afternoon, please? I’d like to give my annual speech before they head home. I don’t think it should take more than an hour and a half.”

“Well, actually, Mr Brittas, that’s what I came to ask you about. I - we - I mean - the staff were wondering if you had considered closing the centre early today?”

Mr Brittas scrunched up his face and took a sharp intake of breath. “Ah, Gavin, no, I’m afraid not. I _did_ consider the proposal from the staff - and thank you for providing it in triplicate, very considerate - but I’m sorry, it’s just not something I can agree to.”

“But Mr Br-”

Gavin was cut off again, this time by a clonk from the intercom on the desk followed by Julie’s voice. “All the other leisure centres are! That new area director bloke has agreed it. He said it was a generous festive gesture to the staff.”

“Julie, that memo was for my eyes only! If you must know, I have a sent a return memo to our new Mr Jackson -“ Mr Brittas gave a slight sneer as he said this name. “- explaining why I thought it was a bad idea and precisely why I approved of his predecessor Mr Kitson’s decision to ban the practice of early closing. I must say, I have been very disappointed in Mr Jackson’s haste to overturn to so many of Mr Kitson’s excellent ideas, especially while the murder investigation is still going on.” He tutted. “We are a public service, Julie, and, as such, should remain open to the usual end of the working day so that the public can have access to the facilities paid for by their taxes. We cannot simply close the centre on the whims of management.”

“Doesn’t usually stop you,” came another voice from the intercom. Tim this time. “What about last week when you closed the centre for afternoon just because that kid’s hamster got loose in the squash court?”

“Tim, as I explained at the time, that hamster was a fire hazard. What if it had gotten into the wiring, eh? One little nibble here, one bite there and the whole place would have been up in flames!”

“Mr Brittas, Tim has a point,” Gavin interjected, partly out of duty-bound honour to support his boyfriend and partly to avoid Mr Brittas lecturing them for the third time that week on the fire regulations. “We are usually closed, and all the other centres will be. No-one will be expecting us to be open.”

“Gavin, Gavin, Gavin,” Mr Brittas replied with exasperation. “Suppose little Jonny asks his mother if he can go swimming as a Christmas Eve treat. She isn’t sure we’re open but little Jonny is so keen that she phones up Directory Enquiries to check our opening times. They tell her, as per our official timetable, that we are open and she tells an excited little Jonny that yes, he can have his Christmas swim. They travel all the way to the centre, through the snow, only to find us closed after all. Little Jonny’s Christmas is ruined, just because we wanted to spend a bit more time in the pub. I will not be responsible for that. I’m afraid my answer is no.”

Gavin sighed and there was a pair of groans from the intercom.

“I will see you all for my speech at four thirty and we can celebrate Christmas as a team,” Mr Brittas accompanied this with an expressive hand gesture, “with the satisfaction that we have done our duty to public. Now, was that all? As I do have a lot to get on with.”

“Yes, Mr Brittas,” chorused three dejected voices.

Gavin ambled out of Mr Brittas’ office into Julie’s where she and Tim were sitting either side of the desk looking utterly fed up. Tim gave him a particularly doleful look. Gavin shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry, Timmy, but it was unlikely he was ever going to agree.

“Great. So’ll we be stuck here all evening. We’ll never make it to the cottage,” Tim replied grumpily, slouching even further into his chair.

“Of course we will,” Gavin replied, going over to Tim and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“With Brittas planning a speech? No chance. We’ll be here ’til midnight.

“I could always shred it,” Julie said. “He’s been on at me to destroy all the confidential paperwork on his desk -“

“Since September,” added Gavin with more than a hint of disapproval.

Julie ignored him. “- and I could just accidentally pick up the notes for his speech…”

Tim shook his head. “Too risky. He’ll improvise and we’ll be here until next year.”

Julie conceded the point with a grimace.

“I don’t know why we bothered trying to have a nice Christmas. We should just accept that we’ll never do anything nice with _him_ around,” Tim angrily jerked his head towards the door of Mr Brittas’ office. “And if we don’t get there this evening, there won’t be time to prepare everything, the Christmas meal will be ruined and your parents will hate me!”

“I could always tell them not to come?” Gavin ventured, a bit too hopefully.

Tim narrowed his eyes, “No. You promised.”

“But if it’s going to make you this stressed!”

“No!” Tim snapped again. “You are not getting out of it.”

“Oooh,” Julie interrupted them with a knowing look at Tim. “Finally letting you meet his parents, is he?”

“Yes. Only took him eleven years and being pronounced dead.”

“Timmy…” Gavin didn’t like the way this conversation was going.

Tim stood up so they were face-to-face. To Gavin’s immense relief, he smiled. “Oh don’t worry, you still have brownie points just from telling them in the first place” Tim said, before kissing Gavin. “Just make sure we are out of this building by six o’clock.”

The stern look Tim gave him as he said this firmed up Gavin’s resolve. “Well, if Brittas stays in his office, we should be okay. Julie, perhaps if you just make sure he does stay in there, and no-one else goes in…”

Julie shook her head. “Oh no, I’m not stopping up here all afternoon with nothing to do but work. If we can’t skive off to the pub then the pub is coming to us.” Leaning down, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and placed on her desk two bottles of vodka, a bottle of whisky and a six pack of lager. Seeing Gavin’s slightly startled expression, she explained, “It’s the stash I keep for calming people down after they’ve been in with Brittas. I’m a bit depleted after the Brown Owl incident the other day, but it’ll have to do. Take these, I’ll get the rest, and we’ll get everyone in the squash court.”

Tim gave a decisive nod and started gathering up the bottles. Gavin, however, hung back, “I don’t know, Julie. What if we _do_ have a customer?”

“Then we’ll give them a glass and ask them to join us,” Julie replied as she pushed past him to get to the filing cabinet in the corner. She pulled out another pack of lager, a case of wine and a couple of bottles of gin, which she shoved into Gavin’s arms.

“Do we need this much? There’s not that many of us in.”

“I need it. Alex has been hinting he’s going to propose this evening. I’m not facing that sober.”

“You don’t normally get drunk when he asks,” Tim said.

“I don’t normally plan on saying yes, do I!” Julie replied, slamming the filing cabinet shut. “Come on,” she said, grabbing one of the gin bottles from Gavin and marching out of the office before either of them could say anything.

Tim raised his eyebrows at Gavin. “Motherhood’s changed her.”

They followed Julie down to reception where Carole was packing what seemed to be the entire contents of her cupboards into a large suitcase. Tim stopped to talk to her, dumping his stash of alcohol on the desk while Gavin, too laden to stop, carried on towards the squash court, and Julie went into the restroom to round up anyone she could find.

“We’re off to have a Christmas drink in the far squash court, Carole, if you want to come.”

“Oh, I’d love to, Tim, but I’ve got too much packing to do,” Carole replied, gesturing to the suitcase. “I’ve still got most of the children’s things to do and Ben is being very picky about which toys he’d like to take.” She raised her voice pointedly in the direction of the cupboard behind her. It was met with an annoyed child’s scream, followed by the cupboard door being slammed shut from the inside. Carole turned back to Tim, lowering her voice again. “It’s his first Christmas away from the centre, and I think he’s a bit scared.”

“I didn’t know you were going away, Carole.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you! I received a call out of the blue yesterday from an old friend. He’s been abroad for a few years. We were very close for a while when I was younger,” Carole blushed, “but he went to America around the time I met Derrick. He recently heard that I was divorced now and, as he’s back in the country, wondered if we wanted to spend Christmas with him. He’s rented a country house out by Bournemouth for the holiday and is filling it with all his old friends and their children. It’s a bit of trek, of course, especially at such short notice, but I’ve worked out that as long we can make the seven o’clock train, we should be able to get there. Oh Tim, I’m so excited!”

Tim smiled, finding Carole’s joy infectious. “Sounds lovely, Carole.”

“I just hope Mr Brittas lets us leave on time.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Gavin has been instructed to make sure he does.” Tim winked at her and, gathering up the alcohol, headed off down the corridor shouting back at her, “Come and join us in the squash court when you’ve finished packing!”

An hour later all the staff, minus Mr Brittas and Carole, were relaxing in the squash court and making a such sizeable dent in Julie’s alcohol stash that they were considering sending one of the junior pool attendants out for more. Cheesy Christmas music was blaring from the ghettoblaster Linda used for her aerobics classes and the younger staff were happily dancing away. Colin was adding a to the festive air by rigging up a complex array of fairy lights across the ceiling, merrily pinning up wires as he rehearsed to himself what he was planning to say to Pauline in the pub that evening. The lights sparked a little here and there, but no more than normal for one of Colin’s contraptions. Gavin and Tim were trying to persuade an increasingly drunk Julie to tell them why she’d finally decided to marry Alex while Linda was excitedly telling Patrick about her meeting with the bishop later that evening.

As the afternoon wore on and the alcohol continued to flow, no one gave any thought to Mr Brittas or the idea that they were supposed to be working. Even Gavin had stopped worrying about their boss finding them and, the other side of three beers, had even quite forgotten he had been tasked with making sure everyone arrived on time for Mr Brittas’ Christmas speech.

And so, at half past four precisely, Mr Brittas found himself standing in a completely empty restroom, Christmas cards in hand. The only sign of any of his staff was the sound of Carole arguing with Ben about lego filtering in from reception. He waited for a few minutes, mentally rewriting his start of his speech to highlight the importance of punctuality and when still no-one turned up, he decided enough was enough.

“Where is everyone, Carole?” he asked sharply, causing Carole to jump as he came out of the restroom behind her. 

She whirled around, quickly closing the cupboard door on Ben. “Mr Brittas! I didn’t know you were there.”

“Where are they, Carole?” he repeated.

“Who, Mr Brittas?”

“The staff, Carole! I asked for all the staff to be in the restroom at half past four precisely and there’s nobody here. Now, I know I should make some allowances on the last day before Christmas but everyone being over six minutes late is just not good enough! Where are they all?”

“I don’t know, Mr Brittas,” Carole lied, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

“Carole!” Mr Brittas snapped. She caved.

“I think Tim and Julie may have mentioned something about going to the squash courts for a party, Mr Brittas,” she said quietly, looking down at the floor.

“A party! On Christmas Eve?” Mr Brittas exclaimed. “When who knows how many customers could come through those doors at any moment!” He pointed and Carole turned to look doubtfully at the doors through which no-one had passed all day. She noticed that the snow was starting to fall more heavily now and prayed that her train wouldn’t be cancelled.

“I don’t think there are any customers, Mr Brittas,” she said aloud.

“That’s not the point, Carole.” He sighed. “Right, you go into the restroom and I’ll go and round up the rest of our errant staff.” And with an exasperated “Cuh!”, he marched off down the corridor in the direction of the squash courts.

Carole mumbled a sad “Yes, Mr Brittas” after him and, instructing Ben through the cupboard door to read to the twins whilst mummy was gone, went to sit on her own in the restroom.

She had barely had time to take her seat before Mr Brittas was back, holding out a Christmas card.

“Merry Christmas, Carole.”

“Oh, Mr Brittas!” Clearly moved, Carole took the rather thick envelope. “Thank you!”

“I’ve included your performance review inside to help you plan your New Year’s resolutions. I was planning to give them out to everyone at the end of my speech, but as there are quite a lot of suggestions for you, I thought you could use your wait to make a head start.” Mr Brittas beamed at her, then turned and left without waiting for her reaction, missing seeing her smile turn to a look of dismay as she opened the card to find multiple sheets of paper carefully folded inside.

Mr Brittas arrived at the squash court to find a party in full swing under the glow of Colin’s fairy lights. Everyone has so busy enjoying themselves that no-one noticed him until the main lights came on and the music was interrupted with a loud “Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh, what’s going on here?” The mood was instantly killed as a room full of various disappointed, annoyed and guilty expressions turned to face him.

“I cannot believe what I’m seeing,” Mr Brittas went on, glaring at each of them in turn. “What if a customer had come in and seen you enjoying yourselves rather than servicing their needs?”

“We’re team bonding,” shouted a very drunk Julie from the back of the room. “Getting to know each other. Like you’re always saying we should!”

“Getting drunk on council property during work hours is not exactly what I had in mind, Julie.” He spotted Gavin who was trying, unsuccessfully, to be inconspicuous at the back of the group. “Gavin, I’m very disappointed indeed to see you here. I thought I told you to make sure everyone was in the restroom at half past four precisely.”

Gavin guiltily looked down at his watch. “Oh, I, er… sorry, Mr Brittas” he replied feebly, trying to ignore the fact that Tim had also turned to glare at him.

“Poor Carole is sitting up there all on her own waiting for you, and this might be the last company she gets until the New Year. So, come on, back to the restroom, please.”

There was a dismal chorus of “Yes, Mr Brittas” as Mr Brittas waved his hands widely in the direction of the door to convey that they should all follow him. Their gloomy expressions changed to alarm as Mr Brittas’ hand caught one of the leads dangling from Colin’s fairy lights. The momentum of his shining arm pulled it from the ceiling and it fell, bringing the rest down with it, engulfing Mr Brittas and the rest of the staff in a sea of wires.

The struggle to get free was too much for the already-sparking fairy lights and the bulbs started to blow, one-by-one. The staff froze watched in horror as a tiny chain of explosions passed along the wires. When the final fairy light on the end of the chain went out, everything became momentarily still, before ten seconds later, the plug socket exploded taking the main lights with it. The squash court and the leisure centre beyond were plunged into darkness. Amidst sighs and groans, Mr Brittas called out, quite calmly, “Get the power back on, Colin.”

“I can’t, Mr Brittas,” came Colin’s reply out of the darkness.

“Just do it, Colin.”

“I can’t. I haven’t had chance to repair the back-up generator since the oil spill.”

“Well, I think now might be a good time to do so, Colin.”

“Yes, Mr Brittas,” There was a scuffle, some grunts and a squeal as Colin untangled himself and felt his way through the group before hurrying out the squash court.

“So can we go to the pub, now?” Julie asked with a sigh. “We’re not getting an electrician out at this time on Christmas Eve, not with all the blacklists you’re own, so we may as well get out of here.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Julie,” Mr Brittas replied.

“Why not?”

“Tell her, Gavin.”

“I-I don’t know, Mr Brittas,” Gavin replied, sounding rather confused.

Mr Brittas gave an exasperated sigh. “Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve told you today, Gavin? Our mystery hacker has been at it again. He, or she, has rigged up the computerised doors to make sure that they lock shut rather than automatically open if the power to centre is cut, and for them to explode, if we try and break through. I’ve spoken to the chief inspector about it and he said he’ll get round to investigating it in the new year.”

“So we're trapped!” Tim’s voice contained more than a hint of alarm.

“There’s no need to panic!” Mr Brittas said, raising his voices to be heard over the worried complaints of the rest of the staff. “I’m sure Colin will have us out of here in no time. Until then, let’s break out the candles and go sing some carols in the restroom!”

Rather than no time at all, it took Colin almost six hours to fix the power. The staff had gathered in the restroom with the remains of the alcohol, resigned to seeing yet another Christmas Day staring at candle-lit yellow and green walls. Only Mr Brittas had remained in good spirits. Even his phone call home, with Helen’s threats of what would happen if she had to spend Christmas alone with his family, hadn’t dented his morale. At half past ten, he was happily engrossed in teaching _Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer_ to Carole’s delighted twins and barely noticed the lights flickering back on. The others were quicker on the uptake and sighs of relief filled the room.

It was only Colin rushing into the restroom, oily and frazzled, exclaiming “I’ve done it, Mr Brittas!” that finally got Mr Brittas' attention.

“Done what, Colin?” he asked, turning away from the children.

“The power, Mr Brittas! We can leave!”

“Well done that man!” Mr Brittas said, leaving Colin beaming. Jumping up, he grabbed his pile of Christmas cards from the table and shouted over the noise of the others pulling on their coats and making for the door, “Now, if I could just have your attention, please!”

Silence fell as they all turned to glare at him.

“Thank you! Now, before we all leave to go to our Christmas festivities, I’d just like to say a few words to celebrate the season and -”

“Sod that.” And without so much as a backward glance, Julie was gone.

“Julie!” Brittas shouted after her, but his indignation was no match for the temptation of following Julie’s lead and the others traipsed after her, wishing each other subdued a “Merry Christmas” as they left the centre. Only Colin, Carole and the children remained.

“ - I’ve only fixed it temporarily, Mr Brittas, so I’ll have to come back on Boxing Day to do it properly, but it should hold for the time being - as long as no-one tries to use the pool heating as I had to bypass that system, and I think we’ll need a fair few new circuits boards -”

“Yes, okay Colin,” Mr Brittas said wearily. He shook his head. “Would you believe it, eh?”

“What, Mr Brittas?”

“It’s Christmas Eve and not one member of my staff had the goodwill to stay for a quick sharing of togetherness with the people they spent the whole year with!” He threw the Christmas cards back onto the table with disgust.

“Oh, well, it is late, Mr Brittas, maybes they were just tired.”

“Tiredness is never an excuse to neglect your fellow man, Colin!”

“No, Mr Brittas.”

They were interrupted by a small sob from Carole. She hadn’t moved since the lights came on and was sitting in the corner, Ben fast asleep on her lap. The twins had crawled over to curl up at her feet.

“Are you alright, Carole?”

“Yes, fine, thank you, Colin.” The high-pitch of Carole’s response made it clear this was a lie.

“Just overjoyed by the lovely evening we’ve had, eh, Carole?”

“Yes, Mr Brittas.” Carole descended into tears, hugging Ben to her more closely.

“Excellent!” Mr Brittas beamed at her. “Well, as everyone else didn’t care to stay, we may go and join those families who are eagerly awaiting us. Come on, let’s go home.” And without noticing that Carole’s sobs became louder at this, Mr Brittas headed out the door to reception.

Colin made to follow him but lingered back when he realised Carole still wasn’t moving. “Aren’t you coming, Carole?”

“Yes, yes, I’ve just got to get the children sorted. And then I’ll go… home.” Her voice cracked on this last word. Colin gave her a worried look, but she recovered herself and gave him a watery smile, “You go along, Colin.”

“Well, if you’re sure... Merry Christmas, Carole.”

“Merry Christmas, Colin.”

Leaving Carole to look after her children, Colin went out to reception just in time to see Mr Brittas heading up the stairs to his office.

“Aren’t you going home either, Mr Brittas?”

“Just got to fetch Helen’s present from my office, Colin. I always hide it here until the last possible moment to stop her finding it and taking it back to the shop. I know she just wants to save money and I do appreciate her thoughtfulness but I want her to know I think she’s worth splashing out for at Christmas. I’ve got her a new visibility jacket for her moped this year!” He looked rather proud with himself. “She stopped wearing her old one - she said the visibility covering was wearing off.”

“Oh,” replied Colin, looking rather nonplussed. “Well, have a nice Christmas, Mr Brittas,” he added, but Mr Brittas was already earshot. With a shrug, followed by a worried look at his watch, Colin hurried out into the snow, leaving Mr Brittas and Carole alone in the building.

A chill descended on Mr Brittas as he walked along the corridor to his office. It was so cold that frost had started form around his door. In his hurry, Mr Brittas almost didn’t notice until he grabbed the handle of his office door, and found himself touching solid ice. He pulled his hand back in shock, only then noticing the cold whiteness covering the walls.

Assuming there had been yet another burst pipe, Mr Brittas looked up and was surprised to find the ceiling completely intact. He pulled his jacket sleeve down over his hand, gingerly turned the door handle and went into his office. As in the corridor, a thick layer of frost and ice covered everything, but there was no sign of a water leak or any other disaster. He went to peer at the windows, finding them as sealed for the air conditioning as ever.

Mr Brittas was bewildered. “Must be the heating system,” he muttered to himself and bent over his desk to write a reminder to ask Colin to take a look at it on Boxing Day.

The office door slammed shut, sending an ice blast across the room. Mr Brittas looked up sharply to find a man he recognised standing on the other side of the desk.

“Mr Kitson!”

And indeed, Southern Area Leisure Centre Director Brian Kitson, deceased, was there before him. In leaden tones, he began “Gordon Brittas -”

“We thought you were dead, Mr Kitson.” Mr Brittas interrupted. “The memo from head office was quite definite.” Mr Brittas tutted as he realised what must have happened and smiled. “Did they just mistake you for dead? Believe me, I know what that’s like. It’s happened to me before. Twice, in fact. Had a funeral and everything.” He gave a little laugh.

“I am dead, Gordon,” Mr Kitson went on. “I have come from the other side to warn you that -”

“Mr Kitson, I’m aware that coming back from apparent death can be a jarring experience. I think you should sit down and I’ll call you an ambulance.” Mr Brittas went over to Mr Kitson, intending to gently take his arm and lead him to the couch, just as his last mental health first aid course had taught him. His course, however, had not provided advice on what to do if your hand went straight through the person you were attempting to assist.

Caught off balance by his hand failing to meet solid substance, Mr Brittas staggered forwards, then hurled himself backwards to avoid falling through Mr Kitson. He collapsed heavily against his desk, clinging to it as he steadied himself. Only then did he properly take in the man standing before him. He looked much as he had done in life but with a definite see-through quality. The still-frozen door handle was clearly visible through his stomach. Now Mr Brittas was paying him proper attention, he noticed that Mr Kitson’s legs and wrists were bound in heavy shackles.

For possibly the first time in his life, Mr Brittas was completely lost for words and could do nothing more than stare at the ghost of Mr Kitson in horror.

Mr Kitson continued calmly, “Yes, Gordon, as I said, I am dead. I have been sent to help you avoid my fate.”

“Avoid dying?” Mr Brittas managed to gulp out.

“Avoid ending up shackled like me, Gordon.” With clear difficulty due to their weight, Mr Kitson lifted his arms to display his chains. “This is my punishment for the sins of my lifetime. Over a hundred years of stalking the world of the undead in these before I may enter heaven - one day for every life I blighted.”

The indignity of this had the effect of overriding Mr Brittas’ horror. “But why? What would you have to atone for after all the good work you did? I’ve never meet anyone with less evil intentions.”

“Oh, my punishment isn’t for evil acts, Gordon,” Mr Kitson replied. “If it was, they would simply have sent me straight to hell. It was all the small inconsiderations; all the times I didn’t pay enough attention to feelings and concerns of those around me. I was blind to it in life, but I see it all clearly now. I see why I deserve this.”

“You deserve this?” Mr Brittas was growing more perplexed by the second.

“Yes, I do, and I am here to warn you a similar fate is awaiting you, Gordon.”

“Me?”

“I am afraid so, Gordon.”

Mr Brittas gave an exaggerated shake of his head. “No, I’m going to heaven. I’ve already been!”

Mr Kitson looked at him sadly, “I’m afraid the verdict from the angels is that they are not sure about letting you in a second time.” He paused, then added, “Hell doesn’t seem that keen either.”

Mr Brittas looked rather offended by this. “But they sent me back precisely because my work on bringing about world peace through sport is so important!”

“It’s not _what_ you want to achieve that’s the problem, Gordon, it’s _how_ you are going about it.” The ghost of Mr Kitson starting to flicker and a faint icy breeze began to blow through the room. “I’m afraid my time on this plane is almost up. I came to tell you that it is still possible for you to change your destiny. This night, three ghosts will visit you and show you the way.”

“I don’t understand, Mr Kitson!” Mr Brittas cried, as the ghost of Mr Kitson began to fade before his eyes.

“You will, Gordon, you will. Expect the first ghost as the clock tolls one.”

“But -”

“As the clock tolls one!” Mr Kitson cried, his voice echoing around the room as he blinked out of existence, leaving Mr Brittas alone in his office. The ice disappeared with the ghost and warmth immediately returned to the room.

For a few minutes, Mr Brittas stood motionless with shock as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. Eventually, he straightened, smoothed down the front of the blazer, and said aloud, “Well, Gordy, it looks like that sherry Julie made you drink certainly had an impact. Best walk home. Not get into heaven? You? Cuh!” With a shake of his head, he walked with deliberate calm out of his office, leaving the room in peace.

Two minutes later, he rushed back in, rounded his desk and grabbed Helen’s present before dashing back out again.

So wrapped up in his thoughts was Mr Brittas that, as he passed through reception, he failed to notice the faint glow of light still shining from the crack under the restroom door.


	2. The Ghost of Christmas Past

During his long walk home, Mr Brittas convinced himself that the apparition in his office had been nothing more than a figment of his over-worked imagination. By the time he arrived at his front door, all thoughts of the incident had gone from his mind.

“Darling, I’m home!” he called out as he entered the house, expecting Helen to rush to greet him. There was no response. He went into the living room and found his father, Jim, dozing alone in front of the brightly light Christmas tree.

“Dad!” He exclaimed with delight, just loud enough to wake his father with a start.

“What- where-?” Jim spluttered before breaking into a grin as he recognised his son. He leapt up to greet him. “Gordon! Merry Christmas, son.”

“What are you doing here, Dad? We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Oh, well, when Helen heard that you were stuck at the centre, she decided that if she couldn’t spend Christmas Eve with you, she wanted to help her old Uncle Simon go to midnight mass. She called to see if I would watch the children. Of course, I jumped at the chance. Anything to be useful. Better than spending Christmas Eve alone in my room at the home. Christmas just hasn’t been the same since your mother died, of course…” A sad look passed over the old man’s face. Distracted with placing Helen’s present under the tree, Mr Brittas didn’t notice.

“That’s nice… So, Helen’s not here then?”

“No, and she said to tell you not to wait up if you made it out of the centre. She wanted to make sure that Uncle Simon thoroughly enjoyed himself so didn’t want to hurry back.”

Mr Brittas beamed with pride. “That’s my little Helen! After the disappointment of not being able to spend Christmas Eve with me, she has sacrificed her evening for the good of the elderly. Such an angel, that one! I hope the children kept you entertained?”

“They went to bed as soon as I arrived, Gordon.”

“Jolly good. I think I’ll do the same. It’s been rather a long day, what with one crisis after another. They do make me work for it!” Mr Brittas gave a little laugh. “And I have to admit, I had a bit of a drink with the staff, which has rather gone to my head. Overindulged a bit more than normal, but it is Christmas, and you’ve got to be willing to bond with the staff, haven’t you?”

His father looked at him blankly, then sat back down on the couch.

“Do you want me to bother making up a bed or are you alright there?” Mr Brittas asked him.

Looking rather awkward, Jim replied, “Oh, er, I don’t want to cause you any trouble, son. It’s not ideal for my back, but I can sleep here, if that’s easiest.”

“Excellent! I’ll see you in the morning, then” And without leaving time for his father to reply, Mr Brittas hurried out of the room to bed.

By one o’clock, he was fast asleep, alone in his perfectly calm bedroom. The quiet was broken by the sound of the front door slamming, followed by drunken singing as Helen made her way up the stairs. At the top, she tripped and staggered forward into the half-open door of their bedroom, causing it to slam against the wall. With a giggled “oops”, she slid down the door to sit on the floor and attempted to take off her shoes.

The bang of the door was enough to wake Mr Brittas. He sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp to find Helen wearing a tight black party dress, towering high heels, the smell of alcohol and the remnants of party popper in her hair. She appeared to be in a good mood, which faded instantly when she realised she wasn’t alone.

“Oh, Gordon, you’re here,” she said flatly, dismissively flinging her shoes to the side of the room. “I wasn’t expecting you to get out of the centre until Boxing Day. At least.” Her speech was slurred; despite this, the bitterness in these last two words was obvious.

Mr Brittas didn’t notice. “Colin saved the day, my darling, and got me home to you for Christmas!”

“Good,” Helen replied in a tone that suggested it was anything but. Hauling herself up from the floor, she staggered over to the bed and collapsed onto it, face up, next to Mr Brittas. As she moved around to make herself comfortable, her dress rode up and became even more revealing. Mr Brittas did notice this and smiled.

“You’re looking very festive, my darling. Did you have a good time at the midnight mass?”

“Oh yes,” Helen smiled and, closing her eyes, stretched out languidly, settling into the pillows, not bothering to climb under the duvet.

“Excellent! I’m glad our little difficulties at the centre didn’t completely ruin your Christmas Eve. And now we can celebrate together!” He rolled over to kiss her, but Helen’s only response was a loud snore. He smiled at her sleeping form and, with an affectionate wrinkle of his nose, whispered “Merry Christmas, darling.”

He turned back to his side of the bed, intending to go back to sleep. As he reached for the lamp switch, the time on the bedside clock caught his eye; it was two minutes to one o’clock. He shivered as the memory Mr Kitson’s ghost crying “as the clock tolls one” echoed unbidden through his mind.

Holding his breath, he watched as a second hand of the clock slowly ticked around, getting closer and closer to the hour.

As it reached it, the grandfather clock in the hall let out a loud chime and Mr Brittas started, despite himself. Helen groaned in response to the movement, but didn’t wake. As she settled again, the room remained silent.

The second hand of the clock continued to tick, one minute past one, then two. At three minutes past, Mr Brittas breathed out deeply. Feeling more relief that he cared to admit, he shook his head and chuckled to himself, “You’ve definitely been overdoing it, Gordy.” Relaxing, he clicked off the light and rolled over to go back to sleep.

Just as he was on the cusp of dozing off again, a cold breeze blew across him, just as it had in his office two hours earlier. The familiarity of the sensation jolted him awake and he sat bolt upright. His hand automatically reached for the light switch, but it was unnecessary. The room was lit up by a growing ball of light at the foot of the bed. As Mr Brittas watched, it resolved into a human shape, and then, a man was standing there. He was thin, wearing a smart grey pinstripe suit with neat slicked down hair and small round glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was pale, almost to the point of translucency.

Mr Brittas stared at him with shock.

“Gordon Brittas,” the man said in a voice that recalled the pages of an old yellowing book. “I am the ghost of Christmas Past, and I -”

“You’re late!”

“On this night of self-exploration and understanding, the current time is immaterial -”

“Not to me, it isn’t. And not to a great many other people. Punctuality is never immaterial. I was told to expect you at one o’clock and it is,” Mr Brittas glanced towards his bedside clock, “five minutes past.”

It was the turn of the ghost to stare at Mr Brittas. In more than a century of Christmas Eve hauntings, he had experienced surprise, shock, disbelief, awe, even joy on one occasion, when he presented himself to that year’s soul to be saved. He’d never been told off before. Momentarily lost for words, he watched as Mr Brittas got out of bed and put on his slippers and dressing-gown, all while continuing an apparently well-rehearsed lecture on the virtues of good timekeeping.

“- so it’s very important that we remember that punctuality is a sign that we care about others,” Mr Brittas finished, with an exaggerated hand gesture that the ghost supposed meant something, although he had no idea what.

Feeling he was losing the initiative, the ghost decided to ignore Mr Brittas’ speech and began again, “Gordon Brittas -”

“So, what are we doing then, ghostie?” Mr Brittas interrupted, making to playfully pat the ghost on the arm, his annoyance of the ghost's lateness apparently forgotten. As with Mr Kitson, Mr Brittas’ hand passed straight through the ghost’s body.

Behind his spectacles, the ghost’s eyes narrowed. “I am here, Mr Brittas -”

“Call me Gordon, please.”

“I am here, _Gordon_ -” The ghost failed to keep the peevishness out of his voice, “- on this hallowed night of mysteries and miracles, to take you back into your past, to help you understand your life and the events that have led you to today. On this night, I want to show you yourself.”

Mr Brittas’ face crumpled with confusion. “Riiiiight…” he said, dragging the word out. “Why?”

“To help you right the wrongs of your life. To save you and those around you before it’s too late.”

“Still not with you.”

“Mr Brittas -”

“Gordon.”

“ _Gordon_ , I am here to show you the errors of your ways so that you can atone for them. The spirits of time have determined that it is vital that you change your ways now, this very Christmas, if you and those around you are to be saved.” The ghost sighed. “Look, didn’t Mr Kitson explain this?”

“No.”

 _Did you give him chance to?_ the ghost thought to himself. He was beginning to get a headache. “You don’t understand why I’m here?” he said aloud.

“Well, Mr Kitson explained that you somehow had the impression I wouldn’t make it into heaven as I’ve apparently done something wrong, but as I’ve already been admitted once, I can’t think what the problem would be. Why wouldn’t I get back in?”

The ghost thought back to the large case file sitting on his desk documenting all the pain and suffering Mr Brittas had caused during his life so far. It was the largest file he’d seen in his career. He was tempted to point out that it was having so much to plough through had been why he was late. Instead, he said, “You can’t think think of anything you’ve done wrong? Any harm you’ve caused anyone?”

“No.”

The ghost raised an eyebrow, “Think deeply, Gordon. Are you sure?”

Mr Brittas raised a finger to his lips and made a visual show of his concentration. After a good half a minute, a spark of realisation flashed across his face and he looked at the ghost. “I did once accidentally steal a leisure centre pencil and didn’t return it until after the weekend! I must say, if that’s it, this all seems a bit excessive…”

The ghost was stunned. _Surely, this man must realise what he is? Nobody could cause that much chaos and be completely unaware… could they?_ He gave Mr Brittas an appraising look “You are Gordon Brittas?” he asked. “You are Gordon Wellesley Brittas, born 12 September 1958, son of Jim and Catherine Brittas, brother of Horatio Brittas, manager of Whitbury Newton Leisure Centre?”

“Yes, indeed!” Mr Brittas beamed proudly.

 _Oh. Damn._ “And you can’t think of anything - other than the pencil - that you’ve ever done wrong in your life?”

“No.”

The ghost sighed again. This was going to be difficult. “We’d better start at the beginning then.”

He clicked his fingers and the room around them instantly changed into a children’s bedroom. The open curtains showed that it was daytime. They were standing between two identical, neatly-made beds. A small Christmas tree stood in the corner.

A young boy was sitting on the end of one of the beds. He may have been around eleven years old, but it was hard to tell as his face was buried in his hands. He was crying. The bedroom door was ajar and the sound of people arguing could be heard from downstairs.

As he took in his new surroundings, Mr Brittas’ expression became one of wide-eyed joy.

“Do you recognise this room, Gordon?” the ghost asked.

Mr Brittas nodded. “It looks just like my childhood bedroom, exactly as I remember it. I haven’t been there in years.”

“And do you recognise this boy?”

Mr Brittas only now seemed to notice the boy on the bed. “No…”

The boy moved his hands away from his face to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his jumper, allowing Mr Brittas to see him more clearly.

“He looks like my brother, when he was a child…” Mr Brittas again looked around the room, then peered more closely at the boy. “But that was almost thirty years ago… It can’t be…” Mr Brittas turned to look at the ghost who gave a solemn nod.

“Yes, that’s Horatio, your brother, when he was eleven. This is your bedroom as it was on Christmas Day, 1969.”

Mr Brittas turned back to the boy. “Horatio! Bruv!”

Horatio hadn’t reacted to their presence when they first arrived and didn’t respond now, despite Mr Brittas happily waving a hand in front of his face.

“He can’t hear you, Gordon. These are but echoes of your past. They may feel as real as the present day but we cannot interact or have any influence here. Do you remember what was special about this Christmas Day, Gordon?”

Mr Brittas nodded eagerly, “Yes, this is the Christmas when we -”

He was interrupted by another young boy, the same age as the first, came running into the room shouting “Horatio, Horatio!” This time, Horatio did look up.

“That’s me!” Mr Brittas exclaimed, as his younger self sat down hard next to Horatio, causing the bed and the boy to bounce.

“Yes, it is,” said the ghost.

Young Gordon shook his brother by arm, “Come on, Horatio, we’re about to open the presents. You’re going to miss seeing how happy mum is when she sees the novelty apron we bought her!”

Horatio, sniffing heavily, moved along the bed out of Gordon’s reach with a look of tear-stained defiance. “No, I’m not coming back down. Not while he’s there!”

“But you have to!” replied young Gordon, sounding rather petulant. “We have to spend Christmas Day as a family, sharing the togetherness. Dad said!”

“No! Not unless _he_ apologises.”

“Do you remember who your brother was talking about, Gordon?” the ghost asked the adult Mr Brittas as they watched his younger self unsuccessfully attempt to drag his uncooperative brother off the bed and towards the door.

Mr Brittas sneered. “Our cousin, Martin. That year, our uncle and his family came to spend Christmas with us. Every year, Horatio would act as vicar for the family and give a little reading to start Christmas Day. A lovely tradition that made us feel _together_ as a family. But Martin thought it was silly and getting in the way of opening the presents, so he made fun of Horatio. A thoroughly unpleasant little boy, that Martin. My first introduction to how needlessly thoughtless some people can be.”

The ghost gave a sideways glance at Mr Brittas, but said nothing.

“You have to turn the other cheek, bruv,” young Gordon was saying to his brother. “That’s what the bible says!”

This seemed to help Horatio a little. Once more wiping his nose on his sleeve, he said “Yes, yes, I know, Gordon. I just don’t understand why people have to be so mean!”

“That’s why we have to change the world! We have to save people from themselves and help them to be better!” There was a determination in Gordon’s eyes that was echoed in the expression of the adult Mr Brittas watching him.

Horatio, however, simply sighed. “Oh Gordon, not this again. We can’t change the world.”

“Yes we can. Just like Dad says: if we work hard enough and we are capable of achieving anything!”

“I don’t know, Gordon…”

“All we have to do is encourage everyone to change!”

“How?”

“You teach them religion to improve their spirits and minds and I’ll teach them sport to improve their bodies, and together, we’ll improve everything!”

Horatio shook his head. “I don’t think we could do all that, Gordon. Not for the whole world. That’s silly. Who’s going to listen to us?”

“Of course we can. We just need to make a plan. We decide what we are going to do, we write it down, and then we do it.” Gordon went over to a small desk in the corner of the room and collected a pad of paper and a pencil. He brought them back to the bed. He wrote across the top of the first sheet: ‘Working towards the dream.’

“What dream?” Horatio asked.

“Our dream,” Gordon said. “Like Dad says, we’ve got to have a dream, so we’ll call it our dream and we will work towards it!”

Horatio scrunched his face up as though pained but said nothing. For half an hour, he sat in slight bewilderment as Gordon created a list of goals to change the world, participating only to make his own copy at Gordon’s behest. The ghost also said nothing while Mr Brittas sat on the opposite bed, watching with delight and occasionally offering unheard advice to his younger self. Neither the younger nor the older incarnations of Mr Brittas noticed that Horatio was only a passive participant.

Eventually Gordon seemed to have a list he was happy with. He neatly copied out onto a fresh sheet of paper, held it up and stared at it with pride.

Horatio, who’d had made his own copy, also stared at it, but more with trepidation than pride. “We’ll never achieve all this, Gordon.”

“Of course we will. We’ve got our entire lives! That’s decades of time!”

“But there’s so much!”

“We don’t have to do it all at once, bruv! We can start small, work on one person at a time if we have to. Every time we see someone acting in a way that goes against our goals of world peace and prosperity, we just have to make sure we always step in and help them improve themselves. If we keep going, eventually, we will change the world!”

As one, both young Gordon and Mr Brittas stared into the middle distance with the same gleam in their eyes and said, “It’s my dream!”

The ghost frowned at both of them, as did Horatio.

“I just don’t know, Gordon,” Horatio said.

“Well I do! In fact, we can make a start right now!”

“How?”

“With Martin. Let’s go downstairs right now and tell him, in front of everyone, exactly how his rude behaviour has ruined everyone’s Christmas.” Gordon got off the bed and headed for the door, but stopped when he realised that Horatio wasn’t following him.

Horatio had remained seated, looking perfectly horrified at the thought of doing what Gordon had suggested.

“Well, come on!”

Horatio opened his mouth, trying to find words of protest. He was saved by their father.

“Boys!” Jim exclaimed, coming through the door. “We’re waiting for you downstairs. Those presents won’t open themselves, you know.”

“We’re coming, dad!” Gordon replied. “In two minutes, after we’ve had a word with Martin.” He gave Horatio a meaningful glance. Horatio grimaced.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Gordon,” their father replied. “I’m afraid Martin and your aunt and uncle have left. Your mother is rather upset about it. She worked so hard on Christmas lunch for everyone…”

“Martin’s gone?” Horatio brightened immediately.

“Yes, he said he was feeling ill after his argument with you and Gordon. Your aunt thought it was better to get him home to bed. But never mind, eh? Let’s go and cheer your mother up, shall we?”

“Yes, Dad!” exclaimed the boys in unison.

“We’ve got a plan to improve the world, Dad,” Gordon said as the three of them traipsed out of the room, waving his piece of paper towards his father. Horatio, who lagged behind a little, purposefully left his copy on the bed.

“Well done, son,” Jim could be heard saying as they went down the stairs. “As I always say, if you just dream hard enough, you two boys will be able to achieve whatever you want in life, if you just work at it.”

As soon as Gordon’s excited explanation to his father could no longer be heard, the ghost went over to the bed and picked up the piece of paper Horatio had left there.

“I’ve still got my copy,” Mr Brittas told him, radiating pride. “It lives in my wallet, right next to pictures of Helen and the children. I’ve taken it everywhere with me ever since this day, to remind me of the importance of my life’s work.” He reached for his pocket, before realising he was still in his pyjamas and his wallet was safely back in the future.

The ghost began to read aloud from the paper: “‘Working towards the dream. One. Setting up a world government.” Mr Brittas joined in as he spoke. “Two. Promoting team spirit. Three. Building a sense of community and belonging.” The ghost paused and Mr Brittas got as far as “Four. Abolition of -” before realising that he was speaking alone.

“Don’t you think these goals were a bit much for an eleven year old boy,” the ghost asked.

“Two eleven year old boys!”

“Don’t you think this is all a bit overambitious? Even for an adult?” He waved the piece of paper towards Mr Brittas.

“No.” Mr Brittas seemed rather confused by the question. “Everyone’s got to have a high ambition, a dream they are driven by. That list of goals has carried me through my life and spurred me to achieve everything I have. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without it.”

Despite himself, the ghost accidentally let out a sarcastic little laugh.

“And I’m making good progress,” Mr Brittas went on, not appearing to notice the ghost’s response. “If I’m allowed to live another forty or fifty years, I do believe I can achieve all this. After all, my progress so far has been excellent, even if I say so myself.”

“Has it, Gordon? Can you truly say that you have…” He scanned down the list of items on the piece of paper, “… brought peace and harmony to all men.”

“Yes.” He paused, then added. “Where I can.”

“Well, let’s see, shall we?”

The ghost clicked his fingers and the bedroom dissolved into what was probably a school hall, although it was difficult to tell amongst the thick smoke. “A carol concert you arranged when you were sixteen, Gordon.”

He clicked again and now they were on a muddy football pitch, a few metres from a large fight between the teams. Some of the injured players were lying groaning around them. “A Christmas Eve charity match you arranged when you were eighteen.”

Mr Brittas began to say something but the ghost didn’t give him the chance. He clicked once more and they arrived at a university Christmas party just in time to see the twenty-year-old Mr Brittas be slapped in the face by a young woman who immediately ran off in tears. Angry onlookers were all glaring at him.

Another click, and now they were standing in the rubble of a burnt out building, the words “leisure centre” just about visible on a singed sign next to a charred Christmas tree.

The ghost continued to click, taking Mr Brittas from Christmas to Christmas. They passed through arguments, fires, explosions, sirens, fights, scared faces, angry faces, unconscious - or worse - faces. He gave Mr Brittas no time to comment, only staying long enough in any year to demonstrate the lack of peace and harmony in each scene.

One final click and they were back in the quiet calmness of Mr Brittas’ current day bedroom. Whilst they’d been gone, Mrs Brittas had taken full advantage of her husband’s absence and was sprawled in an ungainly fashion across the bed. The clock read seven minutes past one - the same time they’d left the room.

For the first time in his existence, the ghost was pleased to be in the present rather than the past. Despite the supposed physically impossibility of it, to his annoyance, he had not passed through the years without experiencing the effects some of Mr Brittas’ ‘talents’ for himself. His glasses were askew, his hair a mess and his jacket was singed and smoking in places. Mr Brittas, on the other hand, had survived the trip unscathed and was currently looking at the ghost with an expectant smile on his face. The ghost scowled at him.

“Gordon Brittas, I ask again, do you honestly believe that you have brought peace and harmony to all men?”

There was no hesitation in Mr Brittas’ reply. “Well, as you have seen, the world is not a pleasant place, and it has not been an easy task. I don’t think I realised when I was eleven just how violent and angry the world can be. Although I’m not as far along as I hoped I’d be by now, I must say, that yes, I do think I have made excellent progress based on what I’ve had to work with.” He finished with a broad grin.

The ghost’s scowl deepened. “You do?”

“Yes. I mean, just imagine what all those Christmases would have been like if I hadn’t been there to help staunch the flow of chaos!”

The ghost bridled. In all his Christmases of saving souls, this had never happened before. Defiance, apologies, tears were all quite common at this stage on the process but the man standing in front of him seemed quite proud of his life. It made no sense and he had no idea what to do now, other than to find himself a very strong drink, somewhere far away from Mr Gordon Brittas, his soul be damned.

“So what’s next?” Mr Brittas asked, still smiling his supercilious smile.

“What?” the ghost replied grumpily, still trying to recover his thoughts. He gave his head a shake in an effort to pull himself together. “Yes, right, well. Gordon, I have shown you the echoes of your past, and some of the events of your life where others have suffered at your hands. I bid you think on what you have seen and consider what you have done.”

These were his standard words, repeated every year, usually to entreaties of remorse or tirades of guilt-driven anger. Mr Brittas had no response to them other than to look at him in confusion. Only a loud snort from Helen, as she rolled over, broke the silence.

The ghost sighed another of his many sighs of the evening, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relieve some of his tension. “Gordon, my colleague, the ghost of Christmas Present, will come to visit you at two o’clock -”

“I hope he’s more punctual than you, eh?” Mr Brittas interrupted, with a little chuckle at his own joke.

The ghost simply glared at him and said curtly, “I’m sure she will be. Until then, I want you to reflect, really reflect on what I have shown you and please, _please_ , try to think about what you could have done differently to have made at least one of those Christmases more pleasant for those around you. I must leave you now. Please reflect and await the next ghost when the clock strikes two. I hope she will be able to help you further.”

“But -”

Not wanting to hear any more of what Mr Brittas had to say, the ghost snapped his fingers a final time and was gone, leaving Mr Brittas staring nonplussed into the gloom, alone once more except for Helen’s loud snoring.


	3. A Ghost Goes Home

Like most functionaries of Heaven and Hell, the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future had an office on the astral plane. It was a large white room, with no doors or windows, and only the vaguest hint of walls. In the centre, there was a large desk covered in towering piles of paperwork: pictures of Mr Brittas, newspaper cuttings, reports, and reams of other heavenly bureaucracy. To the side, there was a large sofa piled high with cushions. It faced a roaring log-fire, and an incredibly well-stocked drinks table was on hand. Although the ghosts liked the simple elegance of their white office, they also liked to be comfy; a sometimes necessary respite from their dealings with some of the darkest souls humanity has to offer.

On the other side of the desk stood a bank of hundreds of small TV screens; currently showing what appeared to be a wide selection of disaster movies. Taken as a whole, it looked like a mosaic of fire.

The ghost of Christmas Present was standing at the desk, surveying its contents. She was a large Valkyrie of a woman, somehow more solid than everything around her. 

Her colleague, the ghost of Christmas Future, was monitoring the TV screens. She was an ethereal, long-haired woman in flowing robes who glowed with an aura, the colour of which changed according to her mood. It was currently a vibrant orange, mirroring the screens in front of her.

“I’m just not sure where to start with this one,” Future was saying to Present; her voice like a faint echo only just in earshot. “There’s just so much...”

“That’s what Past said before he left,” Present replied, her voice as solid and steady as the foundations of a cathedral. “He said he’d never seen anyone who’d caused so much suffering and yet hadn’t already been completely claimed by down there.” She nodded towards the floor.

“The rumour I heard is that they’re the ones who nominated him as our target for this year,” Future said, turning away from the screens and drifting towards the desk. “They don’t want him. They heard what happened when he was up there, and don’t want him turning up to spoil their fun. But, with all this -” she gestured to the paperwork, “they’re worried they won’t have much choice. They think that getting us to fix him now is their last chance to avoid him for eternity but I’ve been watching his future all day, and I really can’t see where to start…” Her aura dissolved from red to a queasy shade of green. “I don’t think we’ve ever had one like this before.”

“You know, I’m rather up for the challenge,” Present said. “Last couple of years, there’s been very little for me to do once Past’s had his go. It’ll be nice to flex my wings for once. And I’m sure he’s made an excellent start.”

“He’s certainly been gone a long time.”

“Oh, he’s probably enjoying himself; you know how much he loves wallowing in a good troubled childhood.”

Future wished she had Present’s ability to live the moment and see the best in things, but she supposed that was her own personal curse. Past had the certainty of the immutable facts of history and Present never had to contend with anything beyond the now. She knew they had their own difficulties to deal with, but living in the future, with her visions of all the possible worlds to come, Future found she could never ignore all the possible problems, all the things that could go wrong…

She turned back to her screens, each showing a different snapshot of Gordon Brittas’s future, and scanned them again, looking for something, anything, positive. In all their Christmases of saving the potential damned from themselves, she had always been able to see the telltale signs of improvement as Past and Present did their work, the indications that the was soul rectifying itself, the good starting to filter into their future. But Past had been gone over three hours and, if anything, the future misery caused by Mr Brittas appeared to be getting worse. This was not good.

There was a crack in the air and the ghost of Christmas Past materialised next to the drinks table. He immediately poured himself a whiskey, downed it in one, poured another and promptly collapsed onto the couch, sinking into the cushions. He’d put his glasses back on and half-tidied his hair since leaving Mr Brittas, but he was still looking decidedly singed, smoke wafting up from the hems of his jacket.

He downed the second glass of whiskey and stared absently in the direction of the fire for moment, then jolted with shock. He stood up again, grabbed a decanter of tonic, and threw its contents over the fire, quelling it instantly. “No more flames,” he muttered before returning to the couch.

Present and Future exchanged a worried look and hurried over, seating themselves either side of him.

“So, how did it go?” Future asked, trying to sound neutral but betrayed by the purple and black sparks of anxiety flashing through her aura.

Past groaned before saying quietly, “I just don’t think he knows. I showed him twenty Christmases in total, each one full of destruction, anger, chaos he had caused and…” Past shook his head. “And… nothing. No remorse, no guilt. In fact, he seemed rather pleased with himself. Couldn’t see the problem. Or, at least, couldn’t see that he is the problem. He thinks he made things better, not worse, if you can believe that!” He looked sadly at Present, then at Future “I’m afraid I’ve left rather a lot for you both to do.”

Present gave his hand a comforting pat. “Not to worry, we were bound to get a difficult one eventually. I was just saying to Future: a nice challenge for us this year, rather than leaving all the heavy lifting to you. You did an amazing job with that politician last year - we were rather bored.”

“Oh, yes, dullest year ever, last year, thanks to your work,” added Future, putting her arm around Past’s shoulders and giving him a squeeze.

Past gave them a weak smile. “Well, I hope you do have better luck than me!”

“Speaking of which, I should be on my way,” said Present, checking her watch.

Past grimaced. “Oh yes, you don’t want to be late!” he said, sarcastically. “I was a couple of minutes late, due to all that paperwork -” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the desk. “- and he told me off! He actually told me off!”

“He didn’t?”

“He did!”

“Right, well then,” Present said, standing and squaring her shoulders in a determined manner. “I can see I’m going to have to be stern with this one.” She seemed to have grown in size as she stood there. Future and Past leaned back, rather in awe of her. 

“Good luck,” Past told her, mentally adding: you’re going to need it.

“I’m sure he’ll quail before you,” Future added.

“Let’s hope so. I’ll see you shortly.” And with a snap of her fingers, Present was gone.

Past went to take another drag of whiskey, only to find his glass empty. Taking the bottle from the table, Future refilled it and he drank it gratefully. He closed his eyes in a state of relieved bliss at being home and sank back into the couch, simply glad that Gordon Brittas was no longer his concern.

Whilst he relaxed, Future’s attention drifted back to her screens. Pouring a large glass of the whiskey for herself, she settled down to monitor the impact of Present’s intervention. After a few moments, her aura returned to bright orange.


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Present

Mr Brittas had returned to bed after ghost of Christmas Past left him and, at two minutes to two o’clock, was still there, sitting perfectly upright, patiently awaiting the next ghost. Helen was still sleeping by his side. He watched her fondly as he waited.

He had almost woken her after the first ghost had left to tell her what had happened, but when he had reached over and tapped her shoulder, she’d sleepily mumbled “geroff” before rolling away from him. As she settled back down, he thought he heard her say something about “Uncle Simon” and decided to leave her to dream about her holy actions.

So, instead, he had set to thinking about what the ghost had shown him of his life and tried to reconcile it with idea that he had somehow done something wrong, was doing something wrong. The idea baffled him. He thought about all the people he had supported through the daily catastrophes of life. He never boasted about it, of course, but many of them owed him their lives. Admittedly, he still had a lot of work to do on getting his staff, at least, to understand the true value of going above and beyond in the name of public duty, but he had honed his team to be second-to-none in dealing with life’s endless crises and was immensely proud of them.

He was basking in this contented pride when the clock struck two. At the exact moment the second hand reached the hour, there was a crack in the air, the familiar rush of coldness, and the ghost of Christmas Present appeared. In the relativeness smallness of the Brittas’ bedroom, she took up all the available space.

“Gordon Brittas, ” her voice boomed around the room. “I am the ghost of Christmas Present. I am here to show you the impact of your actions on those around you this very Christmas.” She spoke firmly but quickly, intending to retain control by giving Mr Brittas absolutely no chance to interrupt her.

Mr Brittas, however, did not even attempt to. On her arrival, he had jumped straight out of bed, put on his slippers and was now standing by the bed, beaming widely, with the air of an excitable puppy. He held out his hand. “Gordon Brittas. You must be the ghost of Christmas Present.”

The ghost stared at the outstretched hand. After a couple of seconds, Mr Brittas realised the problem, “Ah yes, I’ve already made that mistake, you aren’t able to touch anything, are you?” He went to pat at the ghost’s shoulder instead. Intending to pass through her, he swiped his arm rather forcefully and was jarred when his hand crashed into solidity, the rest of his body shaking in compensation.

As he recovered, the ghost placed a heavy hand on his shoulder to steady him and took the opportunity to assess him. Now she was seeing him in person, he looked rather average and, not the first time since they’d received his case file, she wondered how such a man could have caused so much harm in the world. She also remembered how singed Past had been upon his return to their office, which meant he’d even somehow managed to break through the causal time continuum. _If he could do that to a non-corporeal being…_ It was quite the feat for a man in tartan slippers.

“I am the ghost of Christmas _Present_ ,” she said, when he’d stopped swaying. “Unlike my colleague, I exist fully in the here and now. I represent the world as it is at this exact moment. Consequently, I am every bit as real and as solid as you. The present is the key to our existence, Gordon. It is the only place where we can act. My solid corporeal form reflects the tangible reality of that fact.”

Mr Brittas didn’t look as impressed by this speech as the ghost was expecting. “Is that why you’re so big?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, you do seem to be a rather larger lady.” He made a show of looking her up and down. “A little too much living in the now and not thinking of the future in terms of health, diet and exercise, eh?”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No, no, no, no, no, not at all.” Mr Brittas held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “But you could perhaps benefit from my twelve week course _‘Our physical form and the impression it makes on others’_. We run it at the centre twice a year. Unfortunately, nobody has made it past week two yet so some of the later stages haven’t been fully tested, but I think it might be useful nevertheless. I’ve got a leaflet somewhere…”

He made to move towards the door, but the ghost tightened her grip on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Gordon Brittas, I am here to show you the impact of your behaviour on the people around you _now_.”

Mr Brittas eyes glanced around the room, “On Helen? What have I done to Helen.”

The ghost’s grip tightened further. “The metaphorical now, Gordon. The people currently in your life. I am going to show the consequences of your actions; the harm you have inflicted.”

“What harm? I have spent by life working to improve the lot of mankind. I’m afraid I really am failing to see why you all think that’s wrong!”

Not for the first time that night, Mr Brittas looked rather hurt and confused by the idea he was at fault. The ghost almost felt sorry for him and, realising that she had been quite harsh, she loosened her grip on his shoulder and decided to try a kinder approach.

“Gordon, let’s start with an example. Do you remember the decision you made this afternoon?”

“I make hundreds of decisions every day. That’s the role of a responsible leisure centre manager. The buck stops here!”

“This afternoon, your staff asked if they could finish early as it was Christmas Eve.”

“Yes.”

“And you said no.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“As I explained at the time, we are a public service. It was our duty to be there so our customers had access to our services.”

“Did you have any customers?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Do you think your staff were happy to stay?”

“Of course! They are a dedicated team.” He paused. “Most of them.”

“Do you think they were still happy when they were stuck for the entire evening?”

“They know that things happen and we just have to deal with whatever live throws at us as best we can. They all took it in their stride and went off to enjoy their Christmases.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, one or two of the younger, newer staff may have grumbled a bit but I know that my core team will have gone home with a sense of pride in a job well done. And that pride will ripple out into their families, and beyond, spreading a sense of contentment over their Christmases, across Whitbury and the world!” Mr Brittas’ eyes shone brightly. “My dream is being fulfilled.”

“But are _their_ dreams being fulfilled, Gordon?”

“Of course!”

“Let’s take a look, shall we?”

The ghost clicked her fingers and they were transported to the brightly lit interior of a small country church. Midnight mass had just finished and the congregation were milling around the altar, drinking wine, eating mince pies, and wishing each other “Merry Christmas”.

They had appeared next to a white-haired elderly gentleman who was talking to the vicar, although his eyes keep glancing over to the door of the church. He looked anxious and was saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m afraid she got stuck at work. You know what _he’s_ like.”

The vicar’s brow furrowed at the thought of whoever ‘he’ was. “Yes, yes I do.” The frown passed and he smiled sympathetically. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t persuade the bishop to stay any longer, Edward. I do know he was incredibly keen to meet her. He waited as long as he possibly could.”

“Not to worry, Ernest, I know it can’t be helped. Just damn that man.” Realising where he was, he added “Sorry.”

“Oh, I doubt God would mind in _his_ case.”

They shared a grim smile. Edward gave the door another concerned glance.

“I’m sure she’ll be here any minute,” the vicar said, giving Edward’s arm a comforting pat. “She can’t possibly be stuck there three Christmases in a row.”

As if in answer to their thoughts, the church door opened and a very stressed looking Linda appeared. She scanned the crowd. She looked straight at Mr Brittas with no hint that she recognised her boss. It was only when she saw Edward, waving at her, that she broke into a smile and pushed her way through the crowd towards them. Edward embraced her in a hug as she reached him, keeping his arm around her as she turned to the vicar, apologising profusely.

“Is the bishop still here?” she asked, her eyes wide with hope.

“I’m afraid not. Unfortunately, he needed to leave to catch his flight to Africa to start his missionary work.”

Her hopeful expression became strained “Did he get chance to look at my application before he left?”

The vicar grimaced. “Yes, he did, and he was extremely impressed. He was very keen to support your application. However, he felt it wasn’t fair to the others he’s been asked to support if he endorsed you without meeting you.”

Linda’s face fell and she let out a sad “oh”. Edward’s arm tightened around her shoulders.

“He won’t be back until sometime after Easter, I’m afraid. I know that’s too late for your application this time, but I’m sure we can sort something out for next year.”

Linda nodded glumly. “Thank you.”

“I am sorry, Linda.”

Linda shook her head. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.” An uncharacteristic flash of anger crossed her face.

“Truly, it can sometimes be hard to extend Christmas spirit to everyone, can’t it?” The vicar sighed. “But we must try.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Well, I’m afraid I must go mingle. Merry Christmas to you both. I hope you can still enjoy the day despite everything.”

“I’m sure we will,” Linda replied.

“Merry Christmas, vicar,” Edward added, as the vicar turned from them to talk to a group behind him. 

As soon as his back was turned, Linda crumpled and collapsed against Edward’s chest. He embraced her in another tight hug.

Standing next to them, the ghost realised that Mr Brittas was no longer paying attention, but observing the crowd around them.

“This was a very important evening for Linda,” the ghost said quietly, bringing his attention back. “She needed the bishop to support her application for a scholarship to a prestigious theological college. As the first woman to ever apply, she needed the bishop’s support as a referee. She’s been working on her application for six months.”

“Linda was planning to leave the centre!” Mr Brittas looked genuinely shocked by this. “I don’t believe that; she’s one of my most committed members of staff. Always ready to support the dream.”

“She has a desire to help people by spreading the word of God, Gordon.”

“But she’s already helping people through her work at the centre. And there -” Mr Brittas gave another look around the congregation “- she’s doing it whilst surrounded by people her own age. She must be the youngest person here by at least thirty years! I really do worry that, away from the centre, Linda doesn’t spend enough time around her own generation.”

Next to them, Edward whispered something quietly in Linda’s ear. Whatever it was caused her to brighten a little and she nodded in response. Hand-in-hand, waving goodbye to the vicar and a few other friends, they headed off down the aisle and out of the church.

“I don’t think she minds,” the ghost replied as they watched the couple leave.

“But I do.”

“I really don’t think that matters,” the ghost said. She clicked her fingers.

They were transported to Whitbury town centre. It was late; a nearby church was beginning to chime eleven o’clock. Despite the hour, the street was busy. They were standing outside the Wheatsheaf. Drinkers and revellers were spilling out of its doors, wishing each other ‘Merry Christmas’, singing and cheering loudly, spreading out in different directions as they made their way home in the snow. Happy festivity filled the air.

Mr Brittas screwed up his face with distaste. “Cuh! Is this really a way for people to be spending Christmas Eve?” he said.

“Enjoying themselves?” asked the ghost.

“Making a noisy disturbance late at night in a public thoroughfare where people may be trying to sleep nearby. Especially when they could be home with their families.” 

“Not everyone has a family, Gordon.”

At that moment, Colin emerged, moving against the crowd towards the pub. His progress was aided by many of the patrons moving out of his way to avoid the smell. Despite this, many of them wished him a friendly ‘Merry Christmas, Col” as they passed. He reached the door just as the landlord was shooing out the last of his drunken customers.

“You’re locking up, Reg?” Colin said, genuinely surprised.

“Evening Col, we wondered where you’d got to.”

“Got stuck at work. The usual, you know how it is.”

“Ah, yeah, ‘course,” Reg nodded.

“But I thought I’d made it in time for your traditional Christmas Eve lock-in! What’s going on?” Colin asked, peering through the door at the now empty pub.

“Sorry Col, no lock-in this year, I’m afraid. Someone shopped us to the council after the Hallowe’en one and they’ve threatened to revoke our licence if they receive another complaint. They were very apologetic but apparently the person reporting us has been doing their head in, and they decided to make it our problem instead.”

Mr Brittas beamed smugly.

“Oh.” Colin’s gaze darted back to the leaving crowd. “So, Pauline’s gone, then?”

Reg nodded. “Yeah, she left a couple of hours ago. Seemed rather disappointed you’d stood her up and went off with Dave.”

“Dave! Binman Dave!?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“Oh.” Colin sagged with disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Col.” The landlord reached out a hand to comfort Colin but then, finding nowhere he particularly wanted to touch, withdrew it.

“Hurry up, Reg,” called a woman’s voice from inside the pub.

Reg smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Col - got to go. The missus calls. We’re open again Boxing Day though. Do come in for a drink, eh?”

“Will do, ” Colin said glumly. “Well, Merry Christmas, Reg.”

“Merry Christmas, Col,” and the landlord went back into the pub, locking the door behind him, leaving Colin standing alone . He stayed there unmoving for a moment, looking at the empty pub, sighed heavily, then turned and headed off down the now deserted street. Mr Brittas and the ghost watched him go.

“A member of my staff wanting to be involved in illegal activity!” Mr Brittas tutted. “If this is what he gets up to, I’m glad we keep him on the straight and narrow in the centre all evening!”

“You kept him alone all evening, Gordon. He spent the evening by himself in the boiler room, working hard. The thought of seeing his friends is what got him through.”

“No-one needs friends who break the law!”

“Some people need all the friends they can find.”

The snow around them was growing heavier, and Colin was almost out of sight now.

“Let’s see where he goes, shall we?” said the ghost and set off down the street after him. 

After a few seconds pause, and another shake of the head, Mr Brittas followed, continuing his diatribe on the moral laxity of illegal activity as they walked.

Colin led them to small, ramshackle house on the outskirts of Whitbury. The snow had blanketed the garden in a couple of inches of snow; enough to obscure everything except a rather sizeable compost heap.

“Well, that helps explain the smell,” Mr Brittas said, looking at it with distaste, as they followed Colin along the path to the front door.

The inside of Colin’s house was dark and not much warmer than the outside. Hanging up his coat in the hallway, Colin went into his front room and turned on the light. At first sight, it looked like a normal living room with a small couch and armchair faced a small gas fireplace. As the light bulb warmed up, the increased brightness revealed various tools, workbenches and invented contraptions lining the walls, making it look more like a workroom than a home. As Colin fiddled with the fire, Mr Brittas peered around, taking it all in.

“This is just like his cubbyhole at the centre!”

“Colin has always been at his happiest at the centre,” the ghost told him. “He considers it his home more than this house, so is it really a surprise if he turns his home into a replica?”

Mr Brittas scowled, “Not just a replica. I think half of this stuff is actually from the centre. I can see I need to have a word with him about stealing leisure centre property!”

Having lit the fire, Colin had collapsed into the armchair next to them and was staring blankly into the flames. 

“Bringing his work home with him makes Colin feel less alone when he’s not there, Gordon. Have you ever missed anything here?”

“That’s not the point!”

“I rather think it is.”

There was the sound of a cat flap from the back of the house. It broke Colin from his reverie and he looked up with delight as a small black and white cat padded into the room. It was thin, painfully so, with most of its fur either missing or matted. Unlike Colin, it appeared to be aware of their presence as it nuzzled against the ghost’s leg and swiped lazily at Mr Brittas’ foot before jumping up onto Colin’s lap.

“Gordy!” Colin said, lifting the small creature up and cradling it gently against his chest.

“Gordy?” echoed Mr Brittas, looking faintly stunned.

“Merry Christmas, Gordy!” Colin said to the cat. “I’m afraid Pauline won’t be joining us tomorrow, so more turkey for you, eh? Of course, Stephanie will phone in the afternoon -” He pointed to a picture of a young blonde woman on the mantelpiece. “But I’m afraid it’ll just be you and me this year.” The cat meowed gently, and nuzzled Colin’s cardigan. Colin smiled sadly and, going back to staring into the fire, “Just you and me…”

“He named that cat after me?” Mr Brittas asked, staring at the animal in Colin’s arms.

The ghost smiled. _There it was._ There was always something that got to them, something that made them realise why the ghosts were there, doing this. And it was almost always an animal or a child. “Yes, Gordon, he did. He found the poor thing hiding in his compost heap last week. Some children had terrorised the poor thing. Colin’s been nursing him back to health. His small effort to make the world a kinder pl-”

“Yes, yes, but he named that mangy thing after _me_?” Mr Brittas snapped, looking thoroughly offended.

With a growl of annoyance, the ghost snapped her fingers and they were transported to a country lane in the early hours of Christmas morning. It was still dark and snowing heavily. There were no houses or road lamps in sight; the only sign of life a car in the middle of the road. It had been stationary for a good few minutes, judging by the layer of snow piling up around it.

The passenger door opened and Tim appeared. He slammed the car door shut hard enough to cause a small avalanche of snow from the roof. He stomped around to the back of the car, swiped the snow off the boot and sat down on it heavily, glowering into the gloom of the surrounding fields.

Gavin emerged from the other side of the car, trailing a large map and a flustered expression. “Timmy, I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean -” He was cut off by Tim flashing him a poisonous glare before turning away again.

“Will you at least get back in the car?” Gavin pleaded. “Please? It’s freezing out here.”

Tim stamped his feet into the snow. “So you can criticise my map reading again! No. I’d rather stay out here, thank you.”

“Why don’t you drive while I figure out the stupid bloody map then?”

“We wouldn’t even need the map if you hadn’t lied about knowing the sodding way!”

“I do know the way! I just… I’ve only ever driven there in daylight. It looks different in the dark.”

“If you’d managed to convince Brittas, we wouldn’t be here in the dark!”

“Tim…”

“Everything’s going to be ruined now! There won’t be enough time to get it all done in the morning - there’s too much!” Tim glared darkly at Gavin. “I knew I shouldn’t have relied on you to get Brittas to do something.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault!”

“Well, it’s not mine!”

Tim continued to rant, pacing in the snow as he did so. Gavin gave up trying to placate him and collapsed back in the driver’s seat, where he could study the map in the car’s overhead light. The occasional grumpy “yes” and “fine” were the only indication that he was listening to Tim’s tirade about burnt food, Gavin’s parents, and the impending disaster that their Christmas Day was bound to be.

The ghost turned to Brittas. “Another unhappy Christmas, Gordon. They are supposed to be somewhere warm and cosy now.”

Mr Brittas shook his head. “You know, I despair of my staff sometimes. These two, always together, sticking to their bachelor lives despite heading into their 30s.”

“They seem happy enough with each other,” replied the ghost, just as Tim hit the roof the car in frustration, causing Gavin to jump, then scowl at his boyfriend. “Usually.”

“Where they should be is with families, right now.”

“Not everyone suits the same life, Gordon. Family can mean different things to different people.”

“But how will a leisure centre manager interview board view Gavin, a young man who has no inclination to settle down, no willingness to marry, too reluctant to give up his bachelor life with Tim.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“If he wants to reach his full potential, yes. I feel sad for what he’s missing out on. Do you know, I tried setting him up with a very attractive trainee manager on a recent course I took him on, but he showed no interest. Just wanted to get back home to Tim. I despair, I really do.” He shook his head again.

The ghost looked at Gavin, currently looking browbeaten as Tim shouted at him. She felt a wave of sympathy for the young man and wondered if, between his boss and his boyfriend, he ever got any peace. She knew that she wasn’t supposed to use her powers to interfere in reality directly, but felt a need to achieve something good this evening. With a small waggle of her finger, a small piece of snow flashed in front of Gavin on its way to hit the map in just the right place. His eyes widened.

“Hey, I think I’ve worked out where we are!” he said, cutting Tim off mid-rant. “We just need to go back to the last T-junction and turn left.”

Tim didn’t move. “Are you sure? I’d rather stay here until dawn than spend another hour pointlessly driving around.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Gavin said tersely. “Get in.”

“Fine.” Tim trudged back around to passenger side, once again slamming the door as he got back in the car. A large pile of snow fell from the roof, landing on Mr Brittas’ slippers.

Mr Brittas sighed. “I can see I’m going to have to send Timothy on another anger management refresher in the new year.”

The ghost gave him a sideways glance. “You don’t seem as bothered about his lack of a family.”

Mr Brittas pursed his lips. “No, well, I don’t believe I would be able to help there.”

“No?”

“No. For a start, whilst Tim has many excellent qualities, he’s clearly unlikely to ever be promotion material. And secondly, I’ve always rather suspected that Tim’s preferences might be in, er, a different direction.”

“Really?” The ghost bristled, readying herself to tell him off for his views.

Next to them, the car started to rev.

“Which is perfectly fine, of course.” Mr Brittas went on, speaking a little too quickly. “I went on a very informative course in Croydon last year that highlighted the benefit of diversity in the workforce. I did at first worry about what the families who come to the centre would think - we don’t want to get a reputation, do we? - but whatever he gets up to, he keeps it away from the centre, so who am I to judge.”

The ghost was taken aback. “Oh,” she said. “Right.”

The car still hadn’t moved. An ominous whining was now coming from the engine.

Mr Brittas gave a conspiratorial chuckle. “You know, I’ve always rather suspected that he has a bit of crush on Gavin. Always struck me as rather a waste, given how much of a ladies man Gavin is.”

“Er…” said the ghost as the car started to splutter more noisily.

“I’m not sure whether Gavin has actually noticed,” Mr Brittas continued. “But there are little signs that a trained people observer like myself can pick up on. I did try to discuss this with Gavin a few years ago, but he didn’t seem to understand what I was saying. Unfortunately, he just doesn’t seem to have the ability to pick up those little social cues, no matter how many courses I send him on. I keep telling him -”

Whatever Mr Brittas kept telling Gavin, however, was drowned out as the car’s engine finally gave up with a loud bang that echoed across the surrounding fields, accompanied by a large amount of smoke and an almost as loud exclamation of “Fuck!” from within the car.

Mr Brittas tutted, apparently unfazed by the bang. “Yes, Mr Whistler definitely needs that anger management training.”

The ghost was bewildered. _How can he get the big ideas right, but not see any of the reality in front of him._ She was beginning to see why Past had had so much trouble. She watched him as he walked to the front of the car, giving Tim and Gavin an unheard lecture on shoddy car maintenance as they stared despondently at the smoking engine.

_If he can’t see his impact, how on earth do we get him to change?_

With a click of the ghost’s fingers, the quiet of the countryside was replaced with the noise of a Christmas party in the living room of a large terrace house. Around them, the house was packed with people drinking, smoking, dancing, singing, flirting, kissing.

Mr Brittas surveyed the chaos with a look of distaste. “This isn’t a very traditional way of celebrating Christmas, is it?” he said, flinching as a couple next to him started to kiss enthusiastically under the mistletoe. “These people should be with their families. As I keep saying, Christmas is a time for family.”

“For some people, their friends are their family, Gordon,” the ghost said calmly.

“Well, surely, we won’t find any of my staff at-”

“Hey, Sarah, have you seen Alex?” Julie, oblivious to Mr Brittas’ presence, pushed passed him, her loud northern tones cutting through the noise of the crowd. “He promised he’d be here, the bloody -”

“Julie!” replied a young blond woman, clearly pleased to see her. “We were starting to think you weren’t coming!”

“Got stuck a work again, didn’t I, because of that stupid -” Her final word was drowned out by a drunken cheer from the rugby players in the corner, but Mr Brittas scowled at her nonetheless. “Look, is Alex here?” Julie asked again. “I can’t find him.”

Sarah looked awkward, but said nothing.

“Oh, he’s left, hasn’t he? The -”

Sarah shook her head. “No, he didn’t leave…”

“Where the hell is he, then?”

“When you didn’t show, he was convinced you’d stood him up and, well, you know what he was planning, so he took your no-show as a no. After he finished off a bottle of vodka, I think Caroline took her chance...” Sarah trailed off.

Julie looked furious. “Where. Is. He?”

Sarah pointed upwards.

“Right then.” Grabbing a bottle of wine from a nearby table, Julie took a large swig, then determinedly marched out of the living and up the stairs. The hallway was crowded, but the expression on her face was enough to ensure everyone swiftly moved out of her way as she passed.

“Alex!” she yelled, as she walked along the upstairs corridor, flinging the bedroom doors open. “Alex! Get out here, you arsehole!”

She found him in the last bedroom, under a very naked Caroline. Too busy to notice her, they only registered Julie’s presence when the bottle she’d been holding smashed against the wall behind the bed, shattering glass and wine across the room.

Alex paled with fear as his eyes met Julie’s across the room. She held his gaze for a few moments, before turning and storming off back down the stairs. Pushing Caroline off him, Alex grabbed his clothes, and scrambled to chase after her, almost falling down the stairs as he tried to pull on his trousers.

The front door slammed as Julie left the house; it slammed again as Alex followed her.

Mr Brittas was still standing at the bedroom door, gaping with horror as Caroline covered herself in a blanket while Sarah wailed about the state of her carpet. The ghost grabbed his arm to get his attention. “Come on.”

She dragged him out of the house, into the street, where Julie and Alex were screaming at each other. Lights were coming on in the surrounding houses, as the inhabitants peered through their curtains to see what the disturbance was.

“How could you?” Julie was shouting. “How could you, with that -”

“How could _I_? You’re the one who didn’t show up.”

“I got trapped in the centre! You could have waited!”

“I waited and waited.”

“You know I get stuck in that bloody centre!”

“And you know that you don’t need to work there. I told you I would look after you but, no, you chose to be there. You chose your bloody job over me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“What am I supposed to think? Julie, I love you, please!”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” She gave a pointed look at his semi-dressed state.

“I thought you’d rejected me!”

Julie gave him a long, hard look. “Well, I am now. Don’t ever think about trying to see me or little Gordon again.” She turned away and walked steadily away down the street. The only giveaway of her emotions was an almost indiscernable shaking of her shoulders.

“Julie, please!” Alex wailed after her. He tried to follow but the combined effects of alcohol and the cold caught up with him, and he stumbled into a neighbour’s hedge, throwing up in a rosebed.

Mr Brittas looked down at him with contempt. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” he said to the the ghost.

“Alex was going to propose to Julie this evening,” the ghost told him. “From what I gather, she was going to say yes.”

Sarah and a couple of other partygoers had rushed to Alex’s aid and were now trying to help him up. He slumped down in their arms and mumbled a sad, almost pathetic, “I love her.”

“Seems to me she’s had rather a lucky escape,” said Mr Brittas, as they watched the young man being bundled into the house. “Might I suggest they should have been at home with that young baby of theirs, instead of here. If only people would spend time with their families…”

“I gather they were trying to create their family.”

“I don’t see how Julie could create a family with someone who cheats on her so easily.”

“He was very upset when Julie didn’t show up. Gordon, have you never done anything self-destructive when feeling depressed?”

“No. I have control of my morals, even when life sends its curveballs at us.”

“Well, have you ever gotten carried away at a party?”

“Only within the loving confines of my marriage.”

”You didn’t spend Christmas Eve with your family. Where was your wife this evening, Gordon?” she asked lightly.

“At church,” said Mr Brittas, earnestly.

_And you really believe that, don’t you?_ The ghost wondered whether disillusioning him would help or hinder her cause.

Mr Brittas smiled at the thought of Helen. “She’s a very saintly woman, my wife, you know,” he said. “Over the years, we’ve worked together to build a strong, loving relationship that contributes to the community and the social cohesion of the world around us. She knows that the chaos of life means that, yes, sometimes we are apart for the important moments, but all those years spent nurturing our love means that we are together even so. You certainly wouldn’t catch me risking my relationship sleeping with someone else at a party, or bringing children into the world outside of wedlock!”

The ghost raised an eyebrow, then snapped her fingers. They were transported to the darkened reception area of the leisure centre, shortly after Mr Brittas had left earlier that Christmas Eve.

Mr Brittas looked around in confusion. “What are we doing here? I know there’s nobody here as I watched them all walk out on me as I was about to give my speech!”

“Not all of them,” said the ghost. She pointed to the sliver of yellow light coming from underneath the restroom door.

Mr Brittas shook his head in exasperation. “Now, what have I told my staff about making sure the lights are off before they leave. As well as wasting the world’s diminishing resources, it’s the taxpayer’s money providing that electricity!”

“Gordon -”

“I can see that’s another training course I’m going to have to arrange.”

“Gordon!” repeated the ghost, louder this time. “Listen.”

“But-”

“Listen.” she insisted and, to her surprise, he did.

They heard a faint sobbing.

Mr Brittas frowned. “Who’s that?”

“Let’s see, shall we?” Taking Mr Brittas by the arm, the ghost opened the restroom door and led him inside.

The light was coming from the small Christmas tree that had sat, unloved, in the corner of the restroom since the start of December. It was now decorated with the remains of the Colin’s fairy lights and glowing beautifully. Three very small, almost empty-looking Christmas stockings dangled from the lower branches. Two toddlers, Carole’s twins, were curled up on a blanket on the floor next to it, sleeping peacefully. Watching over them was Carole herself, sitting on one of the hard restroom chairs. Ben was on her lap, sleeping just as peacefully as his siblings, oblivious to the sobs coming from his mother.

Mr Brittas gazed at Carole with wide-eyed emotion. _Finally_ , thought the ghost. She said nothing, giving a chance for him to take in the full tragedy of the scene.

The silence was broken by one of the Christmas tree lights burning out with a loud pop. It was enough to wake Ben, who peered sleepily up at his mum. She hastily dried her eyes on his blanket and gave him a watery smile.

“Has Santa been yet, Mummy?” the little boy asked.

“No.” Carole’s voice was high-pitched and strained. “No, I’m afraid he hasn’t come yet.”

“When he comes, will he take us to the big house with all the toys and children that you told us about?”

Carole choked back another sob. “No, darling, I’m afraid we won’t be going to the big house anymore. We’ll be having Christmas here after all.”

“But Santa will still know where to find us?”

Carole looked over at the very meagre Christmas stockings and began to cry again. “I hope so,” she said sadly, “but he’ll only come if you’re asleep.”

She very gently tipped Ben off her lap and lay him down next to the twins. He nudged into Jessica who rolled over in her sleep and hugged him. Ben cuddled her back as he started to drift off again. Carole pulled the blanket tightly around all three of the children and knelt over them, softly stroking each of their heads in turn. Only when she was sure they were all fast asleep again, did she let her tears take over.

The ghost glanced over at Mr Brittas who had continued to watch them with a tearful smile on his face. _Maybe there is some hope for him._

“It’s wonderful,” he murmured.

_Maybe not._ The ghost glared at him. “What is?” she snapped.

“This!” he gestured towards Carole. “This is the spirit of Christmas! A mother looking after her children; a family spending time together, no matter their hardships.”

“They’re spending Christmas alone in a deserted leisure centre with no home, no food, no presents, no comfort!”

Mr Brittas raised his arm defensively. “What can I do? Despite Carole’s clear talents as a mother, her financial skills are unfortunately extremely lacking. I’ve tried to help her many times, yet she always ends up here and never tells me.”

“Or you never notice. Now you know, what are you going to do?”

“Well, first thing in the morning, I’m going to come and ask her to leave!” The ghost looked appalled, but Mr Brittas went on. “We’ve got some spare space above our garage; she can stay there until we find her somewhere new. I’m sure Helen won’t mind - she quite enjoyed the free babysitting last time Carole was there.”

The ghost was surprised by his matter-of-fact resolution to the problem. “Oh,” she said flatly. “Good.”

“I’m rather proud of Carole, you know,” Mr Brittas continued. “Despite her obvious flaws, I think she’s the one member of my staff who truly understands family values. If only the rest of my staff followed her example.” He turned back to Carole, happily watching her and the children.

The ghost bristled, opened her mouth to respond angrily, then realised she had nothing to say. How on earth could she begin explain to him what he was doing wrong? He wasn’t malicious; he seemed to understand the big ideas of caring for others and society; he was loyal and seemed to genuinely want to help his staff. He wasn’t an evil man. Evil men she knew how to deal with, but this…

The ghost realised that there was nothing for it, but to accept that she’d failed on this one. With a final half-hearted snap of her fingers, the restroom faded around them and they were back in Mr Brittas’ bedroom. The clock read five minutes past two.

Mr Brittas continued to stare at the spot where Carole had been until a large snore from Helen brought his attention back.

“Where next?” he asked the ghost, wearing the same excited puppy expression he’d had when she first appeared.

_I’ve made no difference_ , she thought. “That’s it, Gordon,” she said aloud. “I’ve shown you all I wanted to show you.”

The ghost was at a loss of what to do next. At this point, she usually had someone distraught with remorse to pass into the care of Future for a final bit of scaring into goodness. But this man… he was making everyone around him miserable and he didn’t seem to realise, didn’t seem to be able to attribute any of their unhappiness to himself. _How do I elicit remorse from someone who doesn’t believe they have anything to be remorseful about?_

“Gordon,” she began, then paused, gathering her thoughts. “Gordon, do you understand what we are trying to achieve tonight, by showing you these things?”

With absolutely no hesitation, Mr Brittas replied, “No.”

_Right._ “Did you see any pattern in the experiences of your staff this Christmas?”

“No.” Another immediate response.

With a frustrated scream, the ghost reached forward and grabbed Mr Brittas by the shoulders, almost lifting him off the ground, so that they were face-to-face. “Gordon Brittas, let me spell this out for you,” she said, in a tone that only just managed to conceal her rage. “This afternoon, you, against the express wishes of _your_ management, refused your staff the kindness of letting them go home early, even when there was no work for them to do. That decision, made by _you_ , has resulted in every single one of them having a miserable Christmas. Can you see _that_?”

Mr Brittas had been momentarily stunned but rallied quickly. “My staff are a diligent team and appreciate doing their duty. Yes, it may have been nice to go home early - I would have liked that myself - but -”

The ghost gave another scream of rage and pushed him away from her. He landed heavily on the end of the bed.

“Now you know how terrible that decision made their Christmases, you still wouldn’t have done anything differently?”

“No.”

The ghost closed her eyes, needing to get him out of her sight, and took a few deep breaths. When she opened at her again, Mr Brittas was looking at her, his face expressionless.

“Gordon, in an hour’s time, my colleague, the ghost of Christmas Future, is going to show you where your actions will lead you, and those around you, if you do not mend your ways now. I have seen what she is going to show you and, when you see, I think you will understand why we are so desperate to prevent it. Before she arrives, I beg you to think about what I’ve shown, what we’ve shown you so far, and think about how things could have been different.

Mr Brittas was dumbfounded, “I don’t understand -”

“Please, just reflect.” The ghost sounded weary now, and she was growing smaller. “Our time together is at an end, Gordon. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to help you. All I can hope is that one day you will understand.” She sighed, shook her head, and with one final disconsolate look at Mr Brittas, she clicked her fingers and was gone.

Mr Brittas remained motionless on the bed, his face a picture of confused contemplation as, provoked by the ghost’s words, he played over the events of Christmas Eve in his mind. Now and again, he repeated things he’d said during the day, then gave a little shake of his head. Eventually, he said aloud, “Nope, Gordy, can’t see it.”

With a shrug, he stood up and walked round the bed to get in properly. Beside him, Helen groaned with annoyance as he pulled the duvet off her feet as he climbed in. He smiled at her, whispered “Goodnight, my darling” and snuggled down into the pillows.

A couple of seconds later, he sat up again, switched on the bedside lamp and took his notebook from the bedside table. He wrote, “To do: 1. Ask Carole to live in the garage.” Then, he set the alarm for five to three, turned the lamp back off and curled up to sleep until the next ghost arrived.

For five minutes, the room was peaceful. Then, Mr Brittas tutted, sat up and yet again switched on the light. He added “2. And take her the leftover turkey sandwiches” to his to-do list.

Satisfied, he set the notebook back on the table, rolled over and fell fast asleep, pulling the duvet entirely off Helen as he did so.


	5. Disgruntled Ghosts

Back in the ghosts’ office, Past was still sitting on the couch, nursing his seventh whiskey, when Present returned. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She simply replied “I see what you mean” and sat down heavily on the couch next to him. Without a word, Past handed her his drink. She drank it immediately whilst he poured them both another.

“He’s just so - I mean, he -” Present spluttered. Not being able to find the right words, she gave up and finished with a frustrated growl.

Past nodded with a quiet “yes” and handed her the second whiskey glass. She took it and downed that one too.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes before Present exclaimed angrily,“That man!”

Behind them, Future had remained transfixed by her screens, her aura now deepest black. Whilst Present had been away, she had searched with increasing desperation for some kind of change, some improvement, some sign that Mr Brittas’ future, and the futures of those around him, were growing less bleak. There was nothing but she continued to search, hoping beyond hope to find something to work with on her trip to Mr Brittas’s world.

Present’s angry outburst broke her concentration and, realising her colleague had returned, Future drifted over the couch, desperate for some good news. However, Present’s defeated expression told her everything she needed to know. The anxiety that had been building for the past hour burst out, her aura becoming a flare of violent magenta as she shouted, “I’m not doing it! I’m not going!”

Her voice, normally so faint and child-like, echoed around the room, causing the other two ghosts to jump with shock, not immediately realising that she was the one speaking.

“I know you have both done so much work this evening and I’m sorry to let you down but I can see nothing to work with here. There’s just nothing I can do. He’s a lost cause!”

Past and Present shared a look of despair but could think of no reason to disagree with her.

“I think we should cut our loses and try another one instead. There’s always that mogul we were considering - we’ve still got time before dawn!” Future was almost pleading now.

Past groaned, “Oh no, I can’t face another one tonight. Not after that.”

“Neither can I,” Present added.

Future’s aura becoming a sickly yellow, “Well, I’m not going. I can’t risk making the future even worse. We’ll just have to consider this one a loss.”

Past slumped. “Our first failure in 150 years.”

Present, however, wasn’t quite ready to give up. She pointed to the screens. “Maybe you could just show him this, tell him he caused it, and tell him to change, or else!”

“I can’t go near that much fire. Not with him. I’ll evaporate!”

“We could bring him _here_ and show -”

“No!” Future replied vehemently.

“Absolutely not!” added Past.

“Well, I still think we need to try something…”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know,” Present conceded. “I just wish he had some obvious moral failing we could use but morally, he’s sound. Murderers, narcissists, sociopaths, we can handle, but this…”

As Present trailed off, Future sank down onto the couch, her aura returning to black. A despondent silence settled over the three ghosts.

There was a faint pop and an unassuming middle-aged man in a cardigan appeared on the other side of the room. He was Henry Parkes, a senior member of the Hope Restoration Division of the ghostly administration corps. The ghosts were immediately cheered at the sight of him.

“Henry! What are you doing here?”

“We weren’t expecting to see you until after Christmas!”

“Oh no, you haven’t had a bad one too, have you?”

Henry ambled over to them. “No, no, rather a good year. Crumbled as soon as I showed him how much his dog would miss him. A bit of easy one, if I’m honest. Would have preferred more of a challenge. It’s left me at a bit of a loose end back in the office, so Mr Odbody suggested coming along and seeing how you were getting on. He’s got quite the interest in your case this year. We’ve received a lot of work from hopeless souls in Whitbury Newtown in recent times.”

Past gave a cynical snort of laughter, “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“It’s not going well, then?” Henry asked, as he realised how thoroughly unhappy the team of Christmas ghosts looked.

“No,” they responded in unison.

Future gestured at the screens. “This is the current state of his projected future after Past and Present have done their work.”

Henry turned to study them. He was silent as he took everything in. “And there’s been no improvement at all?” he asked, after a few minutes.

“No.”

“I think we made it worse, if anything.”

Henry sat down at the desk and looked across at them with a serious expression. “You’d better tell me all about it.”

For the next ten minutes, he listened as the ghosts recounted the events of their visitations so far.

“He just doesn’t seem to be able to link the outcomes to his own actions,” Present finished.

“Hmm, I wonder…” said Henry. He looked at Future, whose aura had flashed between the red of anger and the black of despair as they’d told their tale, and asked, “Would you have any objection if I took over your visitation of our Mr Brittas? I have an idea.”

A ripple of green relief passed through Future’s aura at the thought, but guilt prevented her from immediately agreeing. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, I’d love the challenge, and I think our department’s methodologies may well prove insightful.”

A pleasant green flooded Future’s aura and she said, with a smile, “Oh then, yes, of course!”

“Good!” Henry also smiled. “Then I shall see you all anon.” And with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

Relieved of her duty, Future sank into the couch, relaxing for the first time since Mr Brittas’ case file had landed on their desk. Next to her, Past and Present shared a worried glance. What was Henry letting himself in for?


	6. The Butterfly Effect

At one minute to three on Christmas morning, Mr Brittas was sitting up in bed, hands folded in his lap, patiently gazing with a contented smile at the spot where the ghosts of Christmas Past and Present had appeared. In the four minutes since his alarm had woken him, he had given some further thought to the ghosts’ assertions that he was doing something wrong and concluded that the ghosts were simply mistaken.

It was an issue he had encountered often; a failure of those lacking his vision to understand the benefits the realisation of his dream would bring to the world, the improvements to society that would abound. The last ghost had told him that his next visit would be from the ghost of Christmas Future and Mr Brittas was looking forward to it. He knew that once they visited the future and saw for themselves the world he was creating, the ghosts would realise their mistake, apologise for disturbing his sleep, and thank him for the job he was doing.

The clock struck the hour. Mr Brittas jumped out of bed as the cold breeze that signified a ghost’s arrival again washed over him. It was accompanied by a pop in the air and Henry appeared at the foot of the bed. Mr Brittas’s excitement immediately turned into a slight frown as he took in the greying, middle-aged man wearing a cardigan that looked like something even Colin would think twice about.

“You’re the ghost of Christmas Future?” Mr Brittas asked, sounding rather surprised. “I must say, I was expecting someone much younger. A child perhaps, as children are our future, aren’t they?”

“You must be Gordon,” said Henry, smiling and holding out his hand for Mr Brittas to shake.

Mr Brittas took shook it tentatively, and answered with a drawled out “yes…”

“I’m afraid I am not the ghost of Christmas Future, Gordon, but-”

“What? Well, who are _you_ , then? I was distinctly told that the ghost of Christmas Future would be next. You know it’s very inconsiderate to change plans like this. It doesn’t show a lot of respect for your customers.”

Henry gave an odd smile at the idea he had customers. “Gordon, I am…” He paused, wondering how best to explain who he was. “My name is Henry Parkes. I am a colleague of the ghost of Christmas Future. After discussing your case and your progress so far, we thought that, in your particular circumstances, I may be better able to help you. I am, I suppose, the ghost of _alternative_ Christmases.”

“Alternative?” A flicker of distaste crossed Mr Brittas’ face and he backed away from Henry slightly. “Well, Henry, I’m not sure I’m your man there. Whilst I’m as open-minded as the next man, there are some things that I cannot condone, especially not after that group squatting on the common tried to burn the centre down with hemp last year -”

Henry laughed. “No, no, Gordon, not that kind of alternative. My realm is that of all the potential Christmases that could have been. Every decision we make splits the universe in two; one path for each outcome. My friends, the ghosts of Christmas, Past, Present, live in this universe and can see the fixed impact of decisions already made, whilst the ghost of Christmas Future can extrapolate forward from what’s already happened. I, on the other hand, have access to all the alternative versions of this Christmas that could be existing right now if any decisions already made had been different, right from the decision of a butterfly to fly left or right up to the decision of a world leader to go to war. Do you understand?”

“No.”

“Gordon, I am here to show you your impact on those around you by demonstrating how different this Christmas could have been for them if you had changed one small decision.” 

Henry snapped his fingers and they were standing in the corner of Mr Brittas’ office. Mr Brittas was amazed to see himself sitting happily at his desk, writing Christmas cards.

“This is one o’clock yesterday afternoon,” said Henry. “I believe your deputy manager is about to ask you a question.”

Right on cue, there was a knock on the office door and Gavin entered.

“Mr Brittas, I -“ he began, before the Mr Brittas seated at the desk interrupted him.

“Ah, Gavin, just the man! Can you ask the staff to gather in the restroom at four thirty this afternoon, please? I’d like to give my annual speech before they head home. I don’t think it should take more than an hour and a half.”

“Well, actually, Mr Brittas, that’s what I came to ask you about. I - we - I mean - the staff were wondering if you had considered closing the centre early today?”

Just as the past Mr Brittas was about to reply, Henry gave a wave of his hand, and the scene before them froze, with a hopeful Gavin looking at the open-mouthed Mr Brittas.

Henry turned to the present Mr Brittas. “Now, I believe you are about to refuse this young man’s request.”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why?”

“As I am about to explain to Gavin, this centre is a public service. It is stated that we are about until four thirty on Christmas Eve, so we stay open until four thirty on Christmas Eve.”

“Did you have any customers yesterday afternoon?”

“No, but as I have already told your colleagues, that’s not the point. We _could have_.”

“Have you had any customers on previous Christmas Eves?”

“Well no, but as I keep -”

“So, yesterday evening, you made a decision to keep your staff here knowing that there would be nothing for them to do. After which, you were planning to keep them an extra two hours to listen to your speech.”

“Making time and space for them to get to know each other as a team - something that is especially important at this time of year.”

“And what time did they get to go home, in the end?”

“Ten thirty.” Mr Brittas paused, before adding, “But that was Colin’s fault.”

“Now, I believe, Gordon, that my colleague, the ghost of Christmas Present, showed you the Christmases your staff are currently experiencing.”

“Yes.”

“And I think you will agree that they are not having an enjoyable time?”

“Unfortunately, the private lives of my staff are not always the happiest, no. I try to advise them, of course, as well as creating a happy community within the centre to compensate.”

“You don’t think there’s anything you could have done differently that would have made your staff happier?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s see, shall we?”

Henry gave another wave of his hand and, with a shimmer in the air, time unfroze around them with Gavin once again asking if they could have the afternoon off.

The present Mr Brittas found himself watching as the past Mr Brittas replied, “Yes, Gavin, after having given the matter appropriate consideration, I think we will close early today, in line with head office guidance.”

“What?" exclaimed both Gavin and the present Mr Brittas, clearly stunned. They were not the only ones, as the intercom clunked off, followed by Julie and Tim rushing through the door. 

The past Mr Brittas beamed at them. “I said, yes, let’s close the centre, and go home for Christmas. There are no customers, so why not, eh?”

His staff stared at him.

“Are you feeling alright, Mr Brittas?”

“Perfectly well, Tim,” he replied, whilst his present-time counterpart vehemently exclaimed “No!” 

“But what about that letter you wrote to the area manager, complaining about the whole idea?” Julie said. “You made me type it out in triplicate - all seven pages of it!”

Mr Brittas nodded furiously in response to Julie’s comment, clearly appalled at this version of events. He turned to Henry. “That letter set out, in great detail, the very many reasons why public service duty should never be abandoned, even at Christmas.”

“Yes, I believe Mr Jackson shredded it as soon as he received it,” said Henry, lightly.

Mr Brittas gave a grunt of annoyance whilst his alter-ego went on, “I’ve had a change of heart, Julie. Never let it be said that old Gordy here doesn’t listen to feedback from his staff.”

His staff continued to stare at him, in bewilderment.

It was Tim who recovered first, his desire for an afternoon off overriding his shock. “Well, thank you, Mr Brittas!” he said, with an overly bright smile. “We’ll go tell the others!” And he grabbed Gavin’s arm to pull him out the room before their boss could change his mind.

Gavin, however, was not to be budged. “Are you sure, Mr Brittas?”

“Quite sure, Gavin.”

“So, do you want me to gather the staff for your speech…?”

“Yes, what about my speech?” echoed the present Mr Brittas, oblivious to Tim quietly hissing “don’t give him ideas”.

“No, no, no, Gavin; I just want you all to get off and enjoy your Christmases. You don’t need me boring you when we could all be in the pub!”

Julie gasped. “You, in the pub?!”

“Yes, Julie. I’ll even buy you a drink.”

Whilst Julie and Tim shared a look of incredulity, Gavin continued to look at his boss with concern. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Mr Brittas?” he asked.

The alternative Mr Brittas threw up his hands in exasperation. “Yes, Gavin, I’m fine! I really don’t know why this is causing you all so much trouble.” He got up and walked over to his office door, flinging it open. “Come on, I’m closing the centre. Let’s get down the pub!”

He made a shooing gesture towards the door. His three staff members finally decided to trust what they were hearing, breaking into genuine smiles and a chorus of “Thank you, Mr Brittas!” The group headed out of the office, with Mr Brittas instructing them to gather everyone in reception.

Once the office was empty, Henry closed the door and turned to the present Mr Brittas, who was glaring at him.

“That did not happen! That absolutely did not happen!” he said, furiously.

“No, it did not,” replied Henry, calmly. “But it is what could, and perhaps should, have happened, and now, I am going to show you the difference it would have made.”

He snapped his fingers and they were transported to a churchyard. It was early evening, and a large number of people were heading into the warm light of the church for the Christmas Eve service.

“You see, Gordon,” Henry continued, “every single interaction we have with others sends ripples out into the world. We act one way, the ripples take one direction; we act differently, those ripples take another. Every person we make happy goes to create further happiness; each person we make miserable goes on to create further misery.”

“But that’s what I’m trying to achieve! I want to bring about a better world from my leisure centre. By encouraging my staff to be better people, to bring world peace, to aspire to my dream, I want them to carry that out into the world to benefit the community, to benefit mankind! It’s my dream!”

“I put it to you, Gordon, that the best way to build the community you want is not to force people to behave the way you want, but simply to act kindly, and let that positivity radiate out naturally. I want to show you what would have happened to your staff if you’d made the _kinder_ decision this afternoon. Come with me.”

Without giving Mr Brittas chance to reply, Henry joined the crowd heading into the church, leaving him no choice but to follow.

The church was packed. The congregation were milling around chatting and wishing each other Merry Christmas as they took their seats in the pews. Despite the crush, the crowd seemed to part before Henry, allowing him to lead Mr Brittas to the front pew where Edward and Linda were once again talking to the vicar, this time joined by the bishop.

“Well, Miss Perkin, after reading your application, I can certainly see why Father Dean here believes you to be such an excellent candidate for the scholarship,” the bishop was saying. “I’ve read your application essay and, I have to say, I am extremely impressed. Your insights into resurrection are some of the most intellectually advanced I’ve ever come across; almost as if you have first-hand experience.”

“Thank you! Death and near-death experiences are unfortunately something I’ve had a lot of experience with in my current job. It’s what caused me to find religion, really. It was something that helped me make sense of it all.”

“Really? What is it that you currently do?”

“Oh, I’m a pool attendant, at the local leisure centre.”

The bishop’s brow furrowed, until the vicar lightly touched his arm and said, “It’s the centre I told you about, Bishop. The one with all the…” he paused, searching for the right word, “… disasters. Our congregation has swelled quite substantially since it opened. There are a great many people seeking spiritual comfort in the area”

Mr Brittas swelled with pride.

Realisation dawned on the bishop’s face. “Ah, yes, you mean the place with the manager who…?” Linda, Edward and the vicar all nodded slowly. “Gosh,” he said to Linda, “no wonder you are such an expert on the afterlife. Well, with your experience, you are undeniably someone we need in the ecclesiastical world, Miss Perkin. I can confirm that I will be more than happy to formally endorse your application.”

“Oh, thank you!” Linda gave a small jump of delight and took the bishop’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “Thank you very much!”

“You are most welcome, and I look forward to following your career. I predict that you will go far.”

Above them, the church bells began to ring the hour.

“Ah, I’m afraid that’s my cue to get started. Well, it was lovely to finally meet you, Miss Perkin. I hope we get chance to talk again after the service.” With a nod to the vicar, the bishop smiled once more at Linda, and made his way to the altar. As soon as his back was turned, Linda gave another squeal of delight and hugged Edward, who had been smiling proudly at her throughout the conversation.

“You see, Gordon, leaving work early meant that Linda-” Henry began, but paused when he realised that Mr Brittas wasn’t paying attention. He was once again looking around the packed church instead of listening to Linda’s conversation.

“All these people are here because of me?” He turned to Henry with an ecstatic smile. “I’d hoped we’d bring about a religious revival, but I’d always left that side of things to Horatio. I didn’t dare to believe I could achieve that as well as bringing about world peace!”

“Gordon, that’s not-”

But Mr Brittas wasn’t listening. “This is wonderful!” he breathed.

Henry sighed and, without warning Mr Brittas, he clicked his fingers. They were instantly transported from one Christmas crowd to another, this one much rowdier.

They were in the Wheatsheaf. The pub’s annual Christmas Eve party was in full swing with Christmas songs blaring out from the pub’s battered jukebox, all but drowned out by the off-key singing of the much-less-than-sober patrons. Mr Brittas’ beatific smile was instantaneously replaced by a look of displeasure as he registered his new surroundings.

Colin was sitting at the bar, nursing a pint and chatting with the landlord. The stool next to him was empty and he was nervously keeping one eye on the pub door.

“So, it looks like the lock-in is back on,” the landlord was telling him. “The Chief Inspector came by this afternoon to say that he hadn’t had any more complaints so he didn’t think he’d bother following up. Even thought he might be in for a midnight drink if him-indoors lets him.”

“Oh, Reg, that’s brilliant! Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without your lock-in!” Colin gave another glance towards the door. “I do hope Pauline will be in to enjoy it with us.”

“Not seen her yet, Col,” Reg replied, “but she definitely said she’d be here. Her and my Mary were discussing frocks earlier. Said she wanted to look special - and asked if you were planning to be in. Mary reckons she’s got a soft spot for you.”

“Oh!” Colin blushed, smiled a small smile to himself as Reg was called away by a customer, and went back to watching the door.

Next to him, Mr Brittas was affronted. “They’re having a lock-in! They’re breaking the law on Christmas Eve, and a member of my staff is involved. I don’t believe it!” He gave an angry stamp of his foot. “I knew this sort of thing was going on. I phoned the Chief Inspector myself this afternoon -”

“No, you didn’t,” said Henry mildly.

“Yes, I did - not long before I caught my own staff illicitly drinking in the squash court -”

“After you didn’t give them the afternoon off, yes, I know. However, Gordon, in this version of events, you’d joined your staff in the pub instead, and promptly forgot all about it.”

“You mean, I stood by knowing that a crime was going to be committed!” Mr Brittas rounded on Henry. “That’s not me! Listen, Mr Parkes, I don’t know who you are, but you can’t convince me that a world where I let the town succumb to crime and debauchery is an improvement!”

Henry shook his head with a small laugh. “A few friends sharing a late night drink in a pub is hardly debauchery, Gordon. It’s just people taking the time to bend the rules in order to build their own community. I believe when my colleague showed you Colin’s actual Christmas, he was spending the day alone as you’d had the pub closed.”

“He had his cat! And the comforting knowledge that he was a law-abiding citizen. Besides, he’s still alone now.” It was true that there seemed to be some space between Colin and the rest of the customers. “They’re avoiding the smell, I imagine.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s alone, Gordon,” said Henry, looking over Mr Brittas’s shoulder. He nodded and Mr Brittas turned to see what had caught his attention.

The pub door had just been pushed wide open with such force that it banged loudly into the wall, causing the pub to fall silent and turn to see what was happening. A flurry of snowflakes was blown into the pub that fell away to reveal a tall lady in a sparkly blue evening gown, skyscraper heels and a blonde wig. She was greeted with a chorus of wolf-whistles from around the pub.

Colin broke into a wide smile. “Pauline!”

“Merry Christmas, Col,” she replied, her voice deep and seductive as she came to join Colin. Around them, the murmur of conversation started up again.

Colin gestured to the empty stool next to him, “I saved a seat especially for you.”

“Thank you.” Pauline sat down and called over to the landlord, “A pint, please, Reg.”

Colin was staring at Pauline with an entranced look on his face. “I-I like your dress,” he said. “Very festive!”

“Well, you’ve got to make the effort on Christmas, haven’t you?”

“And quite the effort you’ve made,” said Mr Brittas, unheard, as he looked Pauline up and down with a look of aversion. Henry gave him a sharp glare.

“’Ere you go, Pauline,” said Reg, joining them and placing a pint on the bar, “Hey, has Col told you about the lock-in?”

“Oh, we’re on then?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Brilliant. Looks like we’ll be seeing in Christmas Day in style, eh, Col?” Pauline gave Colin an unsubtle wink. “A chance to party all night, then a big lunch tomorrow, followed by a sleep in front of the TV - sounds like the perfect Christmas to me!”

Colin looked slightly crestfallen. “So, you’ve got plans for Christmas lunch, then?” he asked, trying, and failing, to sound nonchalant. Reg pulled an “oh dear” expression and hurried away to serve another customer.

“Of course, I do - I’m coming to yours!”

Colin looked thrown for a moment, not quite trusting he’d heard correctly, then broke into a wide grin. “Oh, Pauline! That’s wonderful!” And he began happily babbling about turkeys, introducing her to Gordy and Stephanie, and what an excellent time they would have.

Next to them, Henry said to Mr Brittas, “It’s lovely when two lonely people find each other, isn’t it?”

Mr Brittas didn’t reply, but simply grimaced as Pauline downed half her pint in one, before starting to tell Colin all about her favourite Christmas traditions. Colin simply listened as she talked, looking smitten. It was the happiest Mr Brittas had ever seen him.

Henry smiled, “I think we are witnessing the start of something special, Gordon.”

Mr Brittas made a strangled noise that Henry took for reluctant agreement.

“And to think he missed out on this due to being stuck in the centre.”

Mr Brittas shook his head. “They are planning to break the law. I saved him from that!”

“Sometimes, rules can, and should, be broken for the greater good.”

“Not laws!” Mr Brittas fumed as Henry clicked his fingers once again.

They were transported from the warmth of the pub to the driveway of a small country cottage. The heavily falling snow had blanketed its gardens, giving the house a peaceful air. Warm yellow light shone out from the downstairs windows, a Christmas tree just visible. It looked like the perfect Christmas card.

“Well, this is rather nice,” Henry said, with delight. “It appears someone among your staff is having a lovely time. Let’s go inside and see who it is, shall we?”

Henry ushered Mr Brittas into the house, which was as idyllic inside as out. They were in a narrow oak-panelled hallway. Tasteful Christmas decorations in gold and red lined the walls, and there was a divine smell of cooking and Christmas spices.

“Oh, yes, just lovely!” Henry repeated.

Mr Brittas gave the space a dismissive glance. “A bit too overdone for my taste, but I can see why someone might like it, yes,” he concluded.

Opening a door to their left, Henry led Mr Brittas into a very cosy sitting room, decorated in a similar style to the hall. The middle of the room was dominated by a large and immensely soft-looking couch in front of a roaring log-fire. The main lights were off; the room instead illuminated by flickering gold candlelight.

Gavin was standing by the window, adding the last of a box of decorations to the Christmas tree they’d seen from outside. Absorbed in his task, he looked relax and happy. It suited him.

Taking in the room, Henry gave a little gasp. “Oh, it’s even better in here. Looks like Colin isn’t the only one enjoying some romance” he said.

Mr Brittas raised his eyebrows. “Oh, Gavin is entertaining a young woman, is he?”

“Well-”

“I’ve always said that Gavin should consider finding a wife if he wants to further his career. Thank goodness he’s finally listening to my advice!”

“Well-” Henry repeated, and turned to the door just as it opened and Tim entered, carrying a bottle of wine, a corkscrew and two glasses. On seeing him, Mr Brittas gave an exaggerated gesture of despair. Gavin, meanwhile, turned and gave him an affectionate smile.

“The dinner’s on,” Tim said. “It’ll be an hour but I found this in the cellar to keep us going.” He held up the bottle. “Not the best vintage, but it’ll do.” Placing everything on a small coffee table in front of the couch, he joined Gavin at the tree, wrapping one arm lightly around his boyfriend’s waist. “The tree’s looking nice.”

Mr Brittas tensed at Tim’s display of affection. Henry said nothing and continued to let him watch.

“Thank you,” Gavin replied, looked pleased. He bent around the tree to stash the now-empty decoration box out-of-sight behind it. In doing so, he moved out of Tim’s embrace. Mr Brittas seemed to visibly relax.

Tim didn’t seem to mind, instead looking around the room, critically. “Do you think your parents will like it?”

“Mum will; she loves Christmas decorations.” Gavin went over to the coffee table, and picked up the bottle of wine to study the label. “Oh, my dad phoned whilst you were in the kitchen,” he went on, deliberately focusing on opening the wine rather than look at Tim. “Their plane was a bit delayed so they are staying in London tonight rather than -”

Tim immediately gave him a sharp look. “You said-” he started to protest.

Gavin didn’t give him the chance to get going. “But -” he said firmly, talking over Tim, “they are going to drive up in the morning.” Gavin started to pour the wine. “ _And_ my mum said she was so looking forward to meeting you, so she going to make sure they set off early.” He sank down into the couch as he spoke, and held out one of the wine glasses to Tim. “Wine?”

Tim was mollified. He came to join Gavin on the couch, and took the wine, immediately tasting it. “Good wine.” Relaxing back into the cushions, he gave Gavin a mischievous look. “So, it’s just us this evening then?”

“’Fraid so,” Gavin replied lightly, moving closer to Tim on the couch.

“I guess we’ll have to find something else to do then.”

Gavin slowly placed his glass back down on the table, then did the same with Tim’s. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

Tim raised an eyebrow but before he could say anything, Gavin leant forward and kissed him, pushing Tim backwards as they slid to lie together on the couch.

“Now, isn’t this much better Christmas than on spent arguing in the middle of nowhere?” said Henry.

Mr Brittas did not reply. He was watching Tim and Gavin, open-mouthed with shock.

“Let’s leave them to it, shall we?” continued Henry. He clicked his fingers and they were outside again, this time in a cold snowy street of terraced houses.

The shock of the cold after the warmth of the cottage was enough to snap Mr Brittas out of his stupor, if not quite out of his speechlessness.

“What -?” he spluttered.

“It seems that love is playing a a large role in this version of events.”

“But - !”

“And I don’t think we’re done yet.” Henry nodded to a smartly dressed young man standing on the other side of the road. He was holding a large bunch of red roses and, judging by the nervous way he keep glancing up and down the street, he was waiting for someone. In the house behind him, a lively party was underway.

Recognising the man, Mr Brittas snorted. “Well, I can’t see any opportunity for romance here. Last time I saw this gentleman, he was quite happily cheating on my secretary.”

“Not happily, Gordon and not something that’s happened, or going to happen, in this timeline.”

“But he still -”

Mr Brittas was cut off by a shout of “Alex, you berk!” from the other end of the street. All three of them turned to see Julie, looking amazing and walking slowly towards Alex. Despite her language, she looked pleased to see him.

Alex’s nerves seem to grow on seeing her, and he fumbled with the flowers as he searched for something in his pocket. Faces started to appear in the window of the party; Julie and Alex’s friends curious to see what was going to happen.

Alex finally found what we was looking for and, as Julie grew close, he bent to get down on one knee, trying to simultaneously hold out the flowers and open the ringbox.

“Oh Alex, you always overdo things,” Julie said as she reached him.

Julie’s comment caused Alex’s anxiety to get the better of him, and he slipped on the icy ground, almost sprawling onto the pavement. He saved only by Julie darting forward to catch him. The roses fell on the floor between them and there was a chorus of laughter from the party.

Alex reddened, gave a hesitant glance at the window, and mumbled “sorry” as he steadied himself.

“Never mind them,” Julie said, giving a harsh glare at the window and shooed her friends away. They didn’t move. When she turned her attention back to Alex, he was holding out a sparkling diamond ring. Julie gasped. To anyone who knew her well, it was obvious she was moved, but she masked it with a sideways smile. “You’re an idiot, Alex.”

Alex nodded. “I know. And I’d like to be your idiot, and our son’s idiot, if you’ll have me. Julie Porter, will you marry me?”

Julie stood up and stepped away from him, making a show of looking him up and down critically, clearly enjoying keeping him in suspense.

“Oh, go on then,” she said finally, keeping just enough feigned disinterest in her voice that it took Alex a few moments to realise this was a yes. But as the realisation sank it, he sprung up with delight, lifting Julie off her feet into a hug, unbalancing them both as he skidded on the ice. They fell into a snowdrift at the edge of the garden and kissed deeply. Around them, there was a cheer as their friends rushed out of the house to congratulate them.

On the other side of the street, Mr Brittas was outraged. “She’s marrying him?” He turned to Henry with an accusatory glare. “She’s marrying a man who cheated on her so easily!”

“He isn’t going to cheat on her, now, Gordon. As Julie was able to leave work on time, Alex didn’t spend Christmas Eve feeling dejected and lonely, and didn’t feel the need to seek solace elsewhere. Instead, they spent the evening together celebrating their engagement with their closest friends. Neither of them give any thought to anybody else.”

Mr Brittas wasn’t convinced. “So he didn’t cheat on her this time! But that he could even consider it in any version of events means that it could still happen next week, next year, any time! I’m not happy about a member of my staff marrying someone of such moral weakness -”

“Your happiness doesn’t come into it. It’s Julie’s decision.”

“But people don’t always know what they are doing. That’s why they need me to-”

“No, they don’t. Sometimes, Gordon, the best thing is to let people be free to choose their own lives, to determine their own happiness. For now, they are happy, and that’s best any of us can ever hope for.” 

Alex and Julie reappeared, silhouetted in the window of the house, kissing happily as yet another celebratory cheer went up around them. Mr Brittas’ eyes narrowed. Before he could comment further, Henry snapped his fingers and the street around them was replaced with the main room of a grand country mansion.

Men and women in formal evening wear were milling around the large room. Children were playing on a large rug in front of the fire, watched over by a uniformed nanny. Next to the, a three storey tall Christmas tree glimmered in the light from the chandeliers above, hundreds of expensively wrapped presents piled up beneath it. In the centre of the room, an elegantly dressed woman was at a grand piano, playing Rachmaninov to a rapt audience.

Still enraged, Mr Brittas barely took in the change of surroundings.

“How can someone be truly happy when their partner, the person they have chosen to support them through life, to be their soulmate, is capable, even theoretically, of such -”

He stopped in full flow as the crowd around the piano parted and his attention was caught by the lady at the piano.

“Carole!”

The pianist was indeed Carole. Looking more glamorous than Mr Brittas had ever seen her, she was dressed in red velvet, her dark hair piled elegantly on top of her head. A glance of the children playing revealed that Ben and the twins were there too, confirming that it was indeed his receptionist.

Mr Brittas and Henry joined the others at the piano, watching Carole as she played the closing bars of the concerto. She finished with a flourish and the room erupted into a long round of applause, prominently led by the suave greying man in a tailored midnight blue evening suit standing at her shoulder. Mr Brittas glowered at him as he shouted “bravo, bravo!” at the top of his voice, to blushes and protestations of “oh, it’s nothing, really” from Carole.

The man in the blue suit gave a subtle hand gesture and the string quartet in the corner began to play, signalling the end of Carole’s recital. The crowd around the piano dispersed, leaving Carole and the man to talk privately, watched now only by Henry and Mr Brittas.

“Carole, you are every bit as amazing as he remember,” said the man. “You know, I don’t believe you when you say haven’t played in years.”

Carole blushed and looked at him coyly. “Oh no, I’ve barely played since I married Derrick. The sound of it annoyed him and then, of course, when he left, I had to sell our piano when we lost the house… There was a period when Mr Brittas had a piano in his office and I would sometimes sneak in to play after he’d gone home and Ben was asleep, but his piano was mysteriously destroyed just as he was planning a recital for the staff. After that…” Carole trailed off sadly.

Mr Brittas looked thoroughly scandalised at the knowledge that Carole had broken into his office. He looked even more scandalised when the man sat down on the piano stool with Carole, even though there was barely room from them both.

“I do wish I’d known Derrick had left you in such difficulty, Carole,” said the man. “I would have helped you. He never deserved you, you know.”

Carole blushed again. “Oh, Matthew,” she sighed, gazing deeply into his eyes.

“I was always jealous of Derrick. I don’t think I ever got over you choosing him over me. I loved you, Carole.”

“I was always very… fond of you too.”

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in that photo at Laura and Michael’s place. After all those years of missing you, wondering where you were, what you were up to, and then suddenly you turn up in my friend’s photo collection.”

“Laura…” Mr Brittas breathed, suddenly alert. “Laura and Michael?” He turned to Henry. “Hang on, is this man a friend of Michael T. Farrell?”

Henry nodded. “Yes, and he’s an even older friend of Carole’s. He left the country to live in Chicago when she broke his heart fifteen years ago. He threw himself into his work to deal with the heartbreak and is now one of the richest people in the world. When he met Laura, after she and Michael moved back to Chicago, it was the first he’d heard of Carole in years. He realised how much he still loved her, and here he is. Yet another rather beautiful romance for one of your staff, wouldn’t you say?”

Mr Brittas could only mutter bitterly, “Michael T. Farrell!”

“I know it’s out of the blue, but would you be willing to give our relationship another try?” Matthew asked Carole. “I’ve thought of no-one else all these years, and now that you are free, I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try and win back your heart. I can’t say I have much to offer you - I might be a billionaire with four companies, homes in the London, Chicago, the Maldives, Tokyo - but really I’m still nothing more than the same guy tending his market stall that you knew all those years ago.”

“Oh, Matthew, it’s all so sudden!”

“There’s no hurry to decide, Carole. After all, we’ve got the rest of our lives to get to know each other. How about, just for now, we dance?”

Matthew made another gesture towards the string quartet and tango music filled the room. Standing, he held out his hand to Carole. She took it, and together they walked to the middle of room, where they began to dance, perfectly in sync, lost in each other.

“Yet another love story that could have been set in motion if you’d decided differently, Gordon,” Henry said, as he and Mr Brittas watched them. “In your timeline, when Carole never arrived, Matthew believed she’d rejected him yet again. He left the country on Boxing Day and never returned, nor contacted Carole, ever again. Another moment of joy and happiness missed out on by your decision to keep you staff at work.”

Mr Brittas gave a derisive sneer. “If he’s a friend of Mr Michael T. Farrell’s, I doubt he can be trusted to bring joy and happiness to anyone. By Boxing Day, Carole will be back on reception, broken-hearted and sobbing her heart out, putting off the customers. We’d be the ones who have to deal with the fallout, you mark my words!”

“I happen to know, Gordon, that if allowed to start here and now, this is a relationship that goes the distance and brings untold happiness and prosperity. Freed from the constraints of low-paid work, Carole fulfils her potential and becomes a world-renowned pianist whilst Ben and the twins get to experience life outdoors and the best education money can buy.”

“Cuh! And money is what it’s all about, is it?” Mr Brittas shook his head in disbelief.

“When it brings an alternative to living in a leisure centre cupboard, it is important, yes.”

“So Carole should sell herself to a morally repugnant billionaire to get it?”

“How do you know that’s what he is?”

“He’s a friend of Farrell’s. How can he be anything but?” Mr Brittas exclaimed, losing his temper. “He’s a friend of the man who stole Laura from me!” He immediately reddened as he realised what he’d said. “I mean - from us - from Whitbury - from the centre,” he hastily added.

“I believe you are rather letting your prejudice show there, Gordon,” said Henry, mildly. “In fact, Matthew is rather widely respected for his philanthropic work. With no family of his own, and driven by loneliness, he has used much of his fortune to set up community centres, soup kitchens and scholarship programs across the world. He doesn’t court publicity for it, but he is one of the most generous men you’d ever meet. I believe Michael and Laura have recently become one of his biggest donors, too. You should approve, his using his money to bring about exactly what you say is _your_ dream.”

Mr Brittas angrily shook his head. “Is the world really improved if the rich simply go around buying things for everyone else? Certainly, he could give someone food for a day, buy them a fancy education, but will that person who was handed what they need have a sense of pride in their achievements? Will they have the confidence that comes from knowing that its their _own_ work and determination that has put food on their family’s table? I don’t think so, Mr Parkes. All they will be left with is a sense of dependency and the hope that at some point another billionaire will come along to save them again.” He gestured to the people in the room around him. “Yes, I’m sure these people believe their charity is improving the world, but how is it providing a sense of community? How is it providing the self-worth that comes from people pulling together in difficult circumstances and finding a way through with their own hard work?”

“What about those for whom hard work is not enough, Gordon? Not everyone is dealt the same hand. For some, that encounter with the generous billionaire, or that extra afternoon off from the benevolent boss, may just be the extra helping hand they need, the push that gets them on the path to greatness. Communities are not built solely through shared adversity and pain, but friendship, kindness, a willingness to share your wealth and good fortune with others.”

Henry led Mr Brittas to the children playing in front of the fireplace. “Take Ben, Jessica and Emily. In this version of events, they go on to have glorious futures. Matthew treats Ben as the son and heir he never had and hands Ben the reigns of his charitable foundation when he retires. Ben’s key goal in life becomes making sure that every single child gets the opportunity to play outside in the fresh air every day.

“As for the twins, Jessica excels at biology. Following a PhD at Oxford, she goes on to become one of the world’s leading vaccinologists. In two decades time, she leads the team that creates a vaccine that ends a global pandemic.

“Emily enters politics, becoming the Prime Minister that sets the country and the world on the path to beating climate change. They go down in history as one of the most successful and popular world leaders. They even win the Nobel Peace Prize.”

“And all that only happens if I give Carole the afternoon off, does it?” Mr Brittas snorted and shook his head at the ridiculousness of it.

Henry clicked his fingers and they were back in the restroom of Mr Brittas’s original timeline at midnight on Christmas Eve. Carole was once more sitting alone, crying, as her children slept on the floor under the Christmas tree.

“In this reality, however, Carole, Ben and the twins go on to spend much of the next few years alternating between living in the centre, your garage and assorted bedsits. Throughout most of the children’s formative school years in fact. They work hard, and do as well as they can, but the lack of space for studying, the unstable nature of their home life, means that they have to work much harder to get to the same place. By the time they reach adulthood, they are already drained. Ben spends most of his life working in the local supermarket, eventually making middle management. Jessica completes her biology degree but spends most of her life in low-paid lab work, and Emily works in a bank.”

“And what is wrong with those jobs?” Mr Brittas asked. “They sound like perfectly valid contributions to society to me.”

“Yes, but compared to what they could have become, the waste is enormous. Think how many other lives they could have gone on to improve if they’d achieved their full potential.”

Mr Brittas was silent, and he gazed thoughtfully at the crying figure of Carole. For a moment, Henry believed that he may truly have got through to him. Then Mr Brittas turned to him with a triumphant look.

“Ah, but how can you be sure that keeping the centre open wouldn’t have been the same spark that set one of my customers on the path to greatness?” he asked.

“You didn’t have any customers.”

“But we could have and if we had, why shouldn’t they have had the same opportunities? Why should they be sacrificed in favour of my staff? That’s what public service duty is - putting the taxpayer first! That’s why it’s my dream to-”

“And why does your dream matter more than anyone else’s, Gordon? Why should your staff be sacrificed to it?”

Henry gave a wave of his hand, and time around them flowed backwards until they were surrounded by the leisure centre staff, all sitting despondently in the cold, dark restroom whilst they waited for Colin to fix the electrics. Only the past Mr Brittas looked happy, playing merrily with Ben, Jessica and Emily in the corner.

“Yes, Gordon,” Henry went on, “it is true that sometimes one person’s hope and happiness may have to come at the expense of someone else’s. And it is also true that we can never truly know what the impact of our decisions will be, but a good place to start is to attempt to maximise happiness of the people right in front of us, rather than the hypothetical person who may never exist.”

Henry gestured to the people sitting around them. “Look at your staff, Gordon Brittas. Really look at them. See how miserable they are here, on Christmas Eve. I know my colleague has shown you what happened next: Linda lost her scholarship; Tim and Gavin lost their romantic family Christmas; Julie, Carole and Colin missed the start of relationships that could have brought them joy for the rest of their lives. Instead, they were unhappy, lonely, sad, and that misery will radiate outwards from this group, seeding more misery into the world.”

Henry paused, and turned to look Mr Brittas straight in the eye. “Now, tell me, Gordon, do you still really think that you made the correct decision in keeping your staff here, in this centre, on Christmas Eve.”

There was no hesitation in Mr Brittas’s response, “Yes!” he exclaimed. “Because it’s not just about this one afternoon, is it? Yes, my staff may have had less than optimal Christmases and be unhappy at this precise moment, but there will be other times, where the relationships and characters forged in these difficult times will bring them positivity and happiness which will also ripple outwards. One bad Christmas is not a good enough reason to avoid dreaming bigger!”

Henry shook his head. “Sadly, Gordon, the reason why are doing this tonight is that the misery created, by you, on this one Christmas is not an isolated event. If it was, you could perhaps be forgiven, but we know, from observing what is yet to come, that the negativity emanating from your decisions is building up to critical levels and needs to be averted. If you do not change your ways, and soon, the utopia you so sorely dream of is doomed never to happen.”

Henry clicked his fingers one last time, and they arrived back in Mr Brittas’ bedroom. The clock read five minutes past three. In the five minutes since they’d left, Helen had managed to steal the duvet back for herself, and was sleeping peacefully, cocooned inside it.

“I am afraid, Gordon, that our time is at an end. It pains me more deeply than can you possibly know to see that neither I nor my colleagues have been able to reach you tonight. I can only hope that, for your sake of your soul and the souls of those those around you, that when you have had chance to reflect on what you have seen this night, that you understand and it prompts a deep change in you. If not…” Henry couldn’t finish, and simply shook his head sadly.

A cold breeze started to blow through the room.

“But -”

“I’m sorry, Gordon, but here is where I must leave you. There’s nothing I can do now but leave you to reflect.”

The breeze grew stronger and, in a flash, Henry was gone, leaving Mr Brittas alone for the final time. He sank down onto the bed, landing heavily on Helen’s feet, staring at the point Henry had just vacated with blank confusion.

“But what am I doing wrong?”

“What?” came a muffled reply from the duvet. Bleary with sleep, Helen sat up to look at him. 

Mr Brittas turned to her. “I’ve just been visited by three ghosts, my darling. They told me my dream was destroying the world, but the whole idea seems quite ridiculous to me.”

Helen stared at him, nonplussed, for a few seconds, then rolled her eyes and fell back onto the bed. “Oh, do go to sleep, Gordon.”


	7. A Ghostly Plot

As soon as Henry materialised back in the ghosts’ office, he headed straight to Future’s TV screens, scrutinising them to see if there was any difference in Mr Brittas’ future. The Christmas ghosts, who had been steadily drinking since he left them, came over to join him.

“We didn’t see any changes whilst you were gone,” confirmed Future, her aura now a gloomy grey.

“We didn’t see it get any worse, at least,” Present added as a half-hearted attempt at positivity, “so you’re doing better than me.”

“I think we just have to accept he’s unchangeable,” said Past.

Throwing his arms up in a gesture of despair, Henry turned to them. “I just can’t even begin to understand him. How can someone, especially someone who claims they want to bring about utopia, see the two outcomes from a simple choice and think that the option where everyone is miserable is the best one?”

“Bloody idealists!” exclaimed Past, causing the other three to jump. He shook his head, then took another swig of his whiskey before continuing,“Always the worst to deal with. So wrapped up in their own idea of how the world should be that they can’t see things as they actually are. We’ve never had one like this though. Usually, once they’ve seen how unhappy they are making the people they care about, they start to crack! Then, one final bit of scaring from Future, and we’re done; another member of society reformed and improved. But this man… this man…”

“I’m so sorry I subjected you to him,” Future said to Henry. “I should have just gone and done my job. Now, we’ve just ruined your success rate as well as our own.” Her aura turning an angry red, she turned to the other three ghosts with a look of determination. “So, I’ll go now; show him his future; tell him that if he doesn’t give up his dream, the result is disaster; scare him into changing.”

Henry gave her a kind, but sad, smile. “I don’t think it would work, unfortunately. I don’t believe he’s capable of seeing himself as the cause of problems, only the solution.”

Past and Present mumbled their agreement.

“Well, we can’t let _this_ happen!” Future urged, gesturing once again to the disasters on her screens. She pointed to a particularly nasty explosion. “Maybe I should just take him here, and leave him there until next Christmas. With any luck, he’ll get blown up and solve everyone’s problems!”

“No, we can’t do that,” said Henry. “Too much of a paradox risk. If we left him in a particular future and anything happens to him, he can’t then come back to present to cause that future, which means it wouldn’t exist for us to leave him in, so we wouldn’t have been able to take him in the first place. Standard grandfather paradox stuff, I’m afraid.”

Deciding he was too drunk for the complexity of this, Past let out a groan. “Record-keeping would have a fit having to untangle that.”

Present nodded. “True. It takes them months to deal with the timeline-change paperwork from our usual cases. It’s why they only give us one go a year.”

“And, of course, whichever of upstairs or downstairs got him would kill _us_ for sending him to them early,” added Past.

Future sagged. “So what do we do?”

Feeling totally defeated, Past and Present could do nothing more than shrug in response. For a few moments, the group stared at the screens in despondent silence. Then Henry gasped and looked back at the other three, a devious smile dawning on his face.

“Well, we could always…” he began, and, to a rapt audience, he outlined his idea for resolving their Mr Brittas problem. As he spoke, the three Christmas ghosts also began to smile.

“I like it,” said Future, when Henry had finished, her aura becoming a sunny yellow.

“So we are agreed?” asked Henry.

“We are agreed.”


	8. Wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey

“Still no sign of him,” said Julie. “I tried calling Mrs Brittas too, but no answer from the house.”

It was just before ten o’clock in the morning on the very same Christmas Eve that we began our story, the long-suffering staff of Whitbury Newtown Leisure Centre were gathered in the restroom awaiting the arrival of Mr Brittas. He was almost two hours late, but as their boss being delayed by some catastrophe or another was a commonplace occurence, they hadn’t immediately been too worried.

Eventually Gavin, reluctantly realising he should probably take charge, had sent Julie off to see if she could find out where he was. She had returned ten minutes later none the wiser.

“I reckon he’s not coming in,” Julie went on. “You’re in charge, _Mr Featherly_.”

“Which’ll mean you get to decide whether we have the afternoon off.” Tim gave him a devious smile.

Tim’s comment caused the rest of the staff to look expectantly at Gavin, who looked faintly panicked. “Well, I think we should try and find him before…” he began.

He was saved by Mrs Brittas appearing at the restroom door.

“Morning Gavin, could I have a word?”she said cheerily. She looked rather festive, with a string of tinsel wrapped around her neck.

“Um, yes, of course, Mrs Brittas, but Mr Brittas isn’t here, if you are looking for him. We were just wondering where he is, in fact.”

“Yes, that’s what I came to tell you. He won’t be in today. He’s in hospital in an induced coma.” She sat down at the table, noticing a large plate of mince pies Carole had made in Ben’s play oven “Oh, those look nice. Do you mind if I…?” She took one of the mince pies and immediately took a large bite out of it.

Around her, the staff let out a collective gasp of shock.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs Brittas. What happened?” Gavin asked.

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard. It’s been all over the local news this morning. He walked out onto a zebra crossing without looking, as usual.” She tutted. “Apparently, a lorry of Christmas puddings came out of nowhere. It swerved to avoid him and crashed into the pub at the bottom of Union Road. The container flew open, boxes of puddings flew everywhere, and one of them caught him on the head. Knocked him out cold.” She took another bite of the mince pie. “Oh, these are delicious.”

“Oh no, poor Mr Brittas!” cried Colin, whilst Carole added, “Is he going to be okay?”

“Oh, yes, they think he’ll be fine,” said Mrs Brittas, not quite keeping the bitterness out of her voice. “They’re going keeping him unconscious for a few days, but I think that’s just because they don’t want their Christmases completely ruined.”

“Reasonable,” said Tim with a nod, pointedly ignoring the remonstrative look Gavin gave him.

“Are you okay, Mrs Brittas? Is there anything we can do?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Linda,” said Helen, breezily. “Gordon’s father is looking after the children…” She hesitated, looking puzzled, “… I think. I’m going to staying on the ward with Gordon.”

“That sounds a rather lonely Christmas if you don’t mind me saying, Mrs Brittas,” said Carole.

Helen shook her head and went on happily, “Oh no, they’ve all got all sorts of Christmas games and activities going on to cheer up the patients! It all looks rather fun. Much better than the usual with Gordon’s father. Plus Gordon’s doctor has promised me his personal care. Such a handsome young man…” She smiled to herself with rather a dreamy look on her face. She checked her watch. “In fact, I think he’s doing his rounds in a minute - must get back.”

She stood and hurried out the door, only pausing to grab a couple more of the mince pies and cry out “Merry Christmas!” as she disappeared into reception.

“Give Mr Brittas our love!” called Colin after her whilst the rest of the staff immediately turned back to look at Gavin.

“See, you’re in charge,” Julie told him.

“What, oh, yes, right, well then, um…” Gavin stammered.

“Which means you can definitely close the centre,” said Tim.

“Well, I’m not sure Mr Brittas would -”

“Sod him - he’s unconscious.”

“Julie!”

“What? Mrs B said he was going to be fine, didn’t she?”

“And if he complains, you can always say that we needed the time off to recover from the shock of hearing about his accident,” added Tim.

“Well…”

“I can use the time to go and visit him on behalf of the staff,” said Colin. “I’d have time before the party starts at the Wheatsheaf.”

“I thought they’d banned you from the hospital as a contagion risk, Colin?” said Julie.

“No, no, it’s fine now. They’ve given me my own personal hazmat suit.”

“Ah.” Julie turned back to Gavin. “It’s not like we’re going to have any customers.”

“Well, we might if Mr Brittas isn’t here,” Gavin argued.

“Then we’d better close the centre before anyone finds out!”

The staff crowded around Gavin, each giving their reasons as to why the leisure centre should close for the afternoon.

Finally, pushing them back with his clipboard, Gavin said, “Okay, yes, we can close at lunchtime!”

***

Watching the staff restroom on one of their TV screens, the ghosts and Henry joined in the cheer that erupted, raising their glasses of champagne in celebration of a job well done.

The neighbouring screens showed the Whitbury Newtown Leisure Centre staff enjoying their Christmases in the very near future; Linda celebrating her acceptance to theological college with Edward; Tim and Gavin having a successful Christmas dinner with Gavin’s parents; Colin and Pauline dozing happily in front of the TV, Gordy the cat purring happily between them; Carole and Matthew dining in a banqueting hall, surrounded by friends, yet oblivious to everyone but each other.

The turmoil and destruction of the future had not completely disappeared from the more distant screens, but was somehow muted now, controlled. Among them the images were scenes of Jessica and Emily leading the charge in reducing the chaos; improving the world in the way their father had only ever been able to dream about.

“So, not a perfect future, but definitely an improvement,” said Henry as he surveyed the wall.

Present laughed. “So after all that hard work, all we actually needed to do was whack him over the head?”

“It seems so!” Henry laughed.

“I’ll keep it in mind as a starting point for next year,” said Past.

“I’ll drink to that,” said Future, raising her glass.

“Speaking of toasts, shall we make one final visit?” asked Henry. 

The Christmas ghosts nodded, and Henry snapped his fingers, transporting them to Mr Brittas’ hospital bedside. Beneath the large bandage that enclosed his head, he appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

“Will he remember what we’ve shown him?” asked Present.

Henry looked at Mr Brittas thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. Nobody has ever really studied what happens when we rewind time and reset its direction permanently. Away from the magic Christmas weak point between realities, it can be too difficult for the human mind to process what they've experienced so they simply forget. The memories tend to fade by Boxing Day and are nothing more than long-forgotten daydream by New Year’s Eve. I suspect, by the time he wakes up, we will exist solely in his subconscious.”

“So, if we are in his subconscious, there’s still a chance that our message might seep through one day?”

“It’s always possible,” said Henry.

“Well, good luck Gordon, I hope we do help you after all,” Present said, raising her glass to him. “But for now, I wish you Merry Christmas, Mr Brittas, and wish peace and goodwill to those around you.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr Brittas,” echoed Past, Future and Henry.

This was met by a groan from Mr Brittas, who opened slowly his eyes and peered groggily at the ghosts standing around his bed. In a faltering voice, he said, “I had the strangest dream. You were there, and you, and you…”

THE END


End file.
